A cold Christmas night. We went to a taco truck on
22nd Street. There were three kids running around the taco truck where
wires are. The food smelled and looked delicious. The cashier was
calling people's numbers out loud. I told myself, ”I think everybody has
a feeling that one of the kids is going to fall and get hurt.’’
One of the kids that I knew tripped over the biggest and thickest black
wire and started to cry. He was a five-year-old boy. We asked everybody,
‘’Whose kid is that?’’
Silence is all that you could hear. As we approached the little boy he
asked, “Who are those people?”
He recognized me because I play with him at my house. Luckily, I knew
where he lived. We picked him up and started to walk around with him. He
told us that he wanted to go home. He got in the car with us.
We were looking for his house for two hours. We knocked on doors, but
they weren’t his parents. So we couldn’t find his house.
We went back to the taco truck. He got hungry and we were going to buy
him some tacos of his choice, but the taco truck closes at 8:00. It was
8:15, so we took him to MacDonald's. He got a Bacon McDouble with French
We were asking each other what we should do. Should we take him to the
police or should we keep on looking for his parents? We kept on looking
for his parents. Later that night, we took him to the police. His
parents had reported a missing child.
By the time we got there, his parents were there too. They were glad to
see him. They were also mad that he was still playing around with the
rest of the little kids. After a good day, we all decided to take them
all to eat. The little kid wasn't hungry any more.