Hungry.

She sauntered in. Quietly.
There was embarrassment on her face, as I looked up from the reference desk. And, something else in her eyes. They are child like eyes, attached to the face of a 26 year old woman of Hispanic descent.
"Hi," I start. "How can I help you?" We tend to use that opener a lot. It gets old in my ears, but no one else seems to mind it. I've thought of using new lines like: "Do you know the seven words you can't say on television?" But, one never knows how someone will take that.
"Are you serving food today?"
"I'm sorry," I reply. "Food? For you?"
I can't make the tone in my voice delicate enough for the fragility of the situation I think I'm walking into.
"I haven't eaten in 2 days. My child needs milk."
Holy Shit. We get a fair cross section of humanity through here: scam artists, drug dealers, drug addicts, hard working business women and men, immigrants, lots of children, teens with issues, teens with out issues, parents with children, and so on. This one is simple, and simply in a bad spot.
I immediately think we need to be off the floor and somewhere private. Especially, since the teen computers are only 5 feet away, and filled with teens.
"Would you come with me?"
I'm thinking about the lunch I just ate, and how it would have been better if she'd come here an hour earlier.
We're near a recreation center in the city. I bring her there. We're quickly listened to and the issue is quickly taken care of. We don't subscribe to bureaucratic bullshit here. We're the city.
The story was, she'd taken all the money she'd saved and placed it on the new apartment she wanted to rent; expecting to receive her DSS check in time for the move.
That didn't happen.
I checked up on her after, and the rec center is floating her until the check arrives. The other option would be one of the local food cupboards.
Two days after that, her refrigerator dies, and all the food she stored is lost.

Now, the recreation center is closed, and she's standing in the library again with her two year old son.
I raise my hand and wave. I walk over to her, away from the check out desk.
"I think we need to find you a food cupboard. Are you mobile at all?"
"Mobile?" she asks.
"Can you get around the city?"
She shakes her head in the affirmative. Her simple eyes heavy. Her son simply stands with little emotion. I smile at him. He looks at me.
I bring her to a computer--start cursing the library website's functionality in my head, take a deep breathe and start fresh--and find a local wiki that provides for a us a list of food cupboards that we can verify via either the phone book or the online white pages.
"Can you print that out?" she asked.
"All ready did."
I hand her the list. "If you need help calling let me know."
"No. I can handle that."
I like that. Pride.
This one is going to be all right.