There she stood, defiant as hell, shorts so short and tight they would put a bikini to flaming shame, legs so skinny you could see every tendon and wasted muscle.

She wore brown leather boots that she tied around her ankles, a tattered top decorated with random cuts and slashes, sleeveless of course, and, it goes without saying, draped so pretty much everything for sale was on view to potential customers. She was missing her front teeth (common with crack users) and had a head of hair that was long and greasy.

She was, however, chirpy and active, bouncing around the parking lot like a sad abused child’s windup toy. And the color of her shirt was a wonderful cerulean blue. If she found an open car, with windows down, she jumped in and displayed herself seductively across the front seat.

Once she got lucky and found a bottle of water, which she (of course) drank down, tipping the bottle skyward and looking for the entire world like she was at the beach. Craig and Emmett beach, free to all comers, no ocean, no sand, just lots of blacktop and lots of kids.

She pranced, she preened, she draped herself across the hood of another car. Passersby hooted and hollered as she surveyed the comings and going, the drug transactions, the fight across the street, all with complete distain and indifference.

She is one of the reigning queens of the night - apparently not just the night, but the morning and afternoon, too. Most are homeless and live in abandoned squats, selling their bodies and smoking their pipes. They ranging in age from 14 to however long they can keep going.

Everyone knows, and no one cares. Just another ho, just another life wasted, just another nobody. Literally a body that belongs to everybody but herself. And you know, so many of these sad lost creatures have children. This one does, and she’s one of ours, one of our pretty young girls, going through the system, living with mom, living in foster homes, living with mom, living in various juvies, living with mom. Being pimped by mom.

“Hey, I’m still a virgin, I only give [oral sex]. I can make $50 a pop.”

I see these young girls fighting (fistfights with hair pulling and sometimes knives) over each other's Johns. I see them cold in the winter, coming to Quest to get warm. ”Hard day, it's cold. No one out today.”

One of these 14-year-old babies sits on my lap, talks to me about getting a job at Subway and asks for a dollar to get a beef patty. One step ahead of death at an early age, these beautiful tragic children were never ever children at all.

They only need what all children need: food, clothing, shelter and someone, anyone who cares. They would like to go to the mall with mom and shop for school clothes. They would like a hot bath and a warm bed, where they could sleep and not be afraid.

They would like Thanksgiving dinner and birthday parties (everything in pink please) and corny relatives who tell bad jokes and give them bubble gum and candy with no strings attached, thank you.

Just an ordinary life, OK? And everyday I ask myself, is this too much? Is it really too much to give our children? An ordinary, everyday, all-American life.

QUEST is a community-based organization that provides a safe environment, free meals, counseling, art and recreation programs that keep Hamilton Hill children in school, out of trouble and on track for better lives. For more information on QUEST, visit www.questkids.net.