About: Ingrid Martinique

I walked slowly towards the simple door of an unassuming, yet historically detailed, beautiful building covered in ivy. Gathering my typical newspaper gear—notebook, pen, press pass, and camera—I brushed a hand down to quickly smooth my standard go-to outfit for interviews: black pants and a black sweater. My pamphlet of information detailing this modest charity, on which I was about to write a small article, was as straightforward as my outfit and reporter’s tools. Like most charities, this one seemed full of the usual, albeit wonderful, list of good deeds accomplished, complete with a meaningful, compassionate slogan, reading “We are Friends to the Broken-Hearted.”