She has gray hair and sleeps in the doorway. She fits her back into it, concave, her face out for safety.
Sitting on her bedding at 8:30 in the morning, she packs her small troupe of possessions for the day.
Where does she go until the evening? Why does she choose this street busy with restaurants?The second morning I pass by she talks to a friend. Today the storefront windows lined with brown paper. A new business will move in.