I see her on my way to work. She walks slowly, hunched over, trundling plastic grocery bags full of dear-knows-what. A few days ago, we arrived together at the crosswalk. It was a slow walk cross. Then she spoke, so quietly I bent to hear, “I want to ask a favor.” I thought she’d ask for money or a meal but I was wrong. “Do you have a place to store a few of these bags?” That morning, I gave the wrong answer but I expect, one day before too long, she and I will cross over again.