They have a name . . .

I see her often at intersections with a book in one hand, and a sign, asking for help, in the other. She has a look in her eyes that is hard to describe, but it's painfully obvious something went drastically wrong along her life's journey; abuse perhaps, maybe she's been knocked around a few times. I asked her what books she likes to read. She got excited and began to count them on her fingers, starting with different versions of the Bible. Her name is Jesse.