“Did you see that guy push me out of the truck and throw my duffel bag in the snow?” Glenda asked.
“Yes, are you alright?” Roger asked.
“Yes, I think so. Beezer pushed me pretty hard out of the truck though. I’ll probably be sore for awhile and have some nasty bruises,” Glenda answered after taking a sip of her hot chocolate.
“That’s probably true. Look, I know its none of my business, so you don’t have to tell me your story,” Roger said.
“No, that’s not a problem,” Glenda said. “You let me in your house, Roger, and maybe saved my life, so I should be honest enough to tell you what all went down. First, I need to give you some background information about myself. My real name is Glenda Jackson, but I’m known by several aliases as you’re likely to find out. I’m twenty-two years old and I’m essentially homeless right now,” Glenda said as she stretched out and made herself more comfortable on Roger’s well worn blue and gold patterned couch. Roger sat in his brown Lazy Boy chair and smoked his pipe as he listened to Glenda’s story.
“It sounds like you are having a very rough time of it right now,” Roger stated.
“Actually, my whole life has been a rough time, man. My father left when I was two years old, so I never really knew him. My mom and dad got married too young and the only reason that they got married was because Mom was pregnant with me. My parents never really wanted me. I was an accident.”