For seven years, I’ve walked the same patrol route downtown. Same blocks. Same trouble spots. Same familiar faces. But every now and then, something happens that shifts the whole landscape of what you think you know about people. For me, that shift began with a barefoot woman in a red coat… and a biker who refused to give up on her. Her name is Miss Rose. At least that’s what the locals call her. Seventy-something, tiny as a sparrow, always wrapped in the same faded red coat. She’s been sitting on the same street corner for as long as I’ve...
Continues…