Letasha was cleaner than most homeless people. She was younger too with a story that hit every cliche, from pimps and drugs to a daughter in another state, but I believed her. Earnest and under-educated, her eyes were bright with intelligence. I found her pretty in a lovecraftian kind of way. Something about her asymmetry gave her a kind of uniqueness. She was sick, she was alone, and she needed help—a triple threat.

I didn’t have any extra money but the chivalrous part of me needed to do something. Pride prompted me to open my mouth. “Please, let me get you a sandwich?”

“Naw.” She looked like she was going to say more but started coughing instead. She grabbed the tea that had long since gone cold and gulped it in-between spasms, grimacing at the taste. Once her coughing had subsided, she continued, “I got my check yesterday. That should be enough for now.”

“What are you running from?”

“To.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m running home.” She sighed looking older than her twenty years. “I’ve been gone way too long.”