A Helping Hand

As the man sagged toward her, Lita caught him. His hand, reaching for her shoulder, fell short and brushed against her chest. Looking into his face she could see that it wasn’t deliberate from the struggle for comprehension that warred on his face. He didn’t even look like he even knew where he was. Or possible who he was. He was completely out of it.

Lita sighed. She was always drawn to strange men and they to her. It had been her downfall. Now it was almost mandatory, but this was not the time for bitter memories.

“I’m too nice.” She muttered as she half-walked, half-dragged her charge down the alley. She tried to guide him, but his feet were uncooperative. They seemed to seek out each filmy puddle, each mound of trash, no matter how she directed him.

After his third stumble almost jerked him from her arms, she forced him against the wall, and let him slide down into a fetal position.

“You stay here. I’m going to go get help.” Lita told him.

There was no response and she didn’t expect any. He was gone.

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