Dear Anonymous,
I see you again. This rainy, chilly morning. On a wet granite step. Curled up. Entirely covered with thin clothing. I will stop and place a beautiful wool blanket some one has dropped off. Not just someone, but someone whose daughter died from overdose; who knew the streets. I will leave a piece of blueberry cake for you, on her behalf. And new warm socks.
Each day I see you , you arrive with less and less. Each day we add to your altar: backpacks, clothing, socks, and more.
It may be that you sell it all. It may be how this best helps you now. I don't know. And I can only hazard a guess.
Be well.