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The woman in the library didn't look homeless. Or at least she didn't fit the stereotype. Instead of a dirty, possibly drunk (or deranged) waif with a shopping cart and more tote bags than teeth, this woman still had her dignity and self respect.  She was sitting quietly, dozing actually, in the breakroom of the library when I walked in and tried to decide just which junk food item in the vending machine met my standards. There wasn't much and I took quite a while to make a decision.
"It's really hard to choose isn't it? There's so much in there that looks good." Her voice carried across the empty room and I realized after a second that she was talking to me and not on her phone. Actually, I thought most of it looked pretty yucky, but I have the luxury of choosing most of my meals. I made some comment and then moved on to the drink machine and was disappointed by the lack of Diet Pepsi. "In this weather, those cold drinks taste good. I had one when I got here because they make you leave the shelter about 6 every morning and it's just so hot outside." Oh wow. At that point I realized she was talking about one of the homeless shelters near the library and I made some comment about it being awful to have to be out in the heat. She continuted to talk with me from across the room as I opened my drink, my cheetos, and my book. After a bit, I stood and gathered my stuff, preparing to take a huge step out of my comfort zone. I could tell she thought I was making a quick escape because she looked really surprised when I came over to her table and sat down. "It's much easier to talk when we're not shouting across the room," I said. It was quite a conversation.
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It's cold in North Alabama. I'm sitting near a woodstove wearing a sweater, still a bit chilly and can only imagine the bitter cold of someone who's been put out of her home and reduced to begging on the street. 
