The Voice of My Inner Nineteen-Year-Old Is Back

She always had a lot to say — and it was glorious

Sandi Parsons
6 min readFeb 25, 2023


A black and tan dog laying down.
Photo Credit: Sandi Parsons

“Just leave me alone,” her tone was screechy, drug affected, and unhinged.

Over the last few months, derelict drug addicts have turned rumbling with the security guards into a sport of catch-me-if-you-can. Last week a brawl made the news. I glanced her way. It’s always better to know if the situation has the potential to explode.

The screechy woman was dragging a dog behind her.

The dog lay passively on its side, sliding across the tiles. The dog wasn’t far from choking; its collar pulled way too tight. The dog’s demeanor suggested that using the path of least resistance was a coping mechanism. This dog was used to being dragged about.

Someone had to stop this.

I looked about, a few people walking behind the woman attempted to talk her down. But she looked and sounded like she was as high as a kite. Talking wasn’t going to cut it. Someone had to do something now before the dog choked. No one should treat a dog like that. Either I could watch this happen or be part of the solution.

Thirty years ago, there would have been no hesitations. Nineteen-year-old Sandi was fearless. If you were being a wanker, she’d tell you straight. If…



Sandi Parsons

Sandi Parsons lives & breathes stories as a reader, writer, and storyteller📚 Kidlit specialist, dipping her toes in the big kid’s pool.