Tamantha approached the familiar street corner where Weston, the homeless man she had been searching for, often sought refuge. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, unsure of how this encounter would unfold. She had prepared her words carefully, wanting to convey her genuine concern and offer assistance without appearing intrusive or judgmental.
As she neared the corner, Tamantha caught sight of Weston, sitting on a worn-out cardboard mat, his threadbare coat pulled tightly around him to ward off the chill of the evening. His face was weathered, etched with the marks of a life lived on the fringes of society. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage, and approached him with a warm smile.
“Excuse me, Weston,” she called out softly, her voice filled with co
