From the Homelessness Law Blog:
The willingness to talk to a panhandler reveals V’s story.
“Baby, can you do something for me? It’s a big favor.”
I nodded, trying to look encouraging.
“You see, I’ve got this abscessed tooth on the left side –” She peeled her lip down to show me charcoal gums. “Hurts like a b****. I gotta get it out, but I’m so hungry, honey. Ain’t eaten since yesterday.”
“Sure. How ’bout some soup?”
“Oh, that would be so great. Can you get me some chicken soup? And some rice? And some water?” She looked down, with a self-deprecating smile. “Am I asking too much?”
The kindness I did her was small that day, and outmatched by her appreciation. When I walked toward my building, she called after me to ask my name. She told me hers was “V,” because she’d lost the other letters.
>> Read what happens to “V”
(Please note that some language in this author’s post may be objectionable to some readers.)