The Street

It was a cold January day. I was returning home after work. Walking down the street, I noticed a young woman sitting on the sidewalk. She looked far - she was wearing a great coat covered with ash and dust. I stopped to ask her if she needed anything, but she said no and looked at me with bright eyes. I asked her again if she needed anything, but she refused to speak. It seemed that this young woman had no family or friends to help her. So I sat next to her and started talking to her, hoping she would talk again. "What's your name?" I asked. She didn't say anything. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked again. At last, she opened her mouth and said: "My name is Ann Jazzy." How calm she was when she said that "You don't belong here," I tried not to guess where someone like her would come from. "Where are you from?" "I'm from Chicago," she said with a small smile on her face as if it were a joke. "why do you ask?" I wasn't sure what to say next because I wasn't sure how much more information I should give her. But then again, I didn't want her to think there was something wrong with me because I was asking questions about where she was from. "Where did you get that coat?" I asked, pointing to her coat covered in ash and dust. She looked down at the floor, sighed loudly, and then looked at me with a smile on her face. "How about we sit somewhere?" After looking around for a moment or two she said. "Okay," she nodded as if that was the answer for both of us, turning before leaving as we walked together. "So where did you get that coat?" I asked again with a hint of resentment in my voice. "Shall we go inside?" She suggested again with another nod. "It's cold in here." I nodded in agreement as we slowly turned towards the entrance of the building without saying anything to each other. We both walked into the building in silence. I didn't know what to say; I feel like I'd been rude, but can't do anything about it now. We walked into the building together, and as we stepped into the cool air, I realized that Ann had left her coat behind the building. I repeated with a hint of resentment in my voice. "That's great… where did you get that coat?" She looked at me and sighed. "It's my own," she said. "It's okay," I tried to reassure her. While sitting in the coffee house, she remembered her mother's words for a moment. Where does her detective nature lead? I looked at the watch. After paying the bill for the coffee, I said goodbye to Ann and rushed to the railway station. At the same time Anne's eyes were searching for the coat she had left behind. Making sure no one saw her, she walked forward with her coat, but there was a man standing a little way off, watching her.