As I walked out of a convenience store with my cup of coffee one late October evening, I noticed an older woman standing next to a pay phone. She had a weathered hat on, pink leg warmers that have been out of style for at least ten years, a black mini skirt with gray stockings, what used to be white sneakers, a brown, tattered coat, and frayed gloves. Stereotypically speaking, she seemed to be homeless. As I waited for my friend to come out of another store, I nonchalantly sipped my coffee from inside my car and watched her rummage through her bag for some change in order to make a call. My compassion for her grew when I noticed how upset she seemed, aggravated at her disposition and frustrated with where her life had led. At least that is the way she