The solemn form of a girl could be seen among the busy goers of the street though most likely either paid her no mind or gave simple disdain as they continued on their way. Almost mundified in darkened bandages below a ragged-looking hoody and pants, she sat with one arm around her knee atop the flattened cardboard, a paper cup to her side with a random assortment of coins from the more charitable of the passers-by. She hated having to do this, cold and yet burning from the ever-present pain of her wounds, begging for perhaps a few more coins to help get what she needed.

After all, while she had managed to get sufficient at knowing which stores throughout the mostly intact expired or old goods at which times, those were all in the late evening, and she did end up sharing most of those around the encampments. But that would only go so far, in this world, they needed money and her options had been somewhat limited due to her circumstances. Without an address, bank account or any identification legitimate employment was not exactly easy to come by, even if she had access to cleaner clothing and a shower. On the flip side, as desperate as she was, there was already enough guilt knawing at her inside to really consider stealing, not even accounting for the risks should she get caught. So here she found herself, wanting to help and do good to selfishly ease her inner turmoil, but with no way of doing anything other than the odd gesture when she couldn't even help herself.

She watched the people go by for a while longer until the traffic began to die down, the hustle and bustle of the noon rush were ebbing away and with it the people so she took that as her cue to move on. While there were some that would remain all day without the motivation to move, she at least could still bring herself to her feet. A shot of pain would fire up her side as she put pressure on her right leg as she got up, pushing through the sting and burning rose, becoming the ever-present sensation that was her one constant companion, but as always she carried on through it, collected her cup and making her way to a partially laden cart next to her as she counted it. The girl started to move away with only crimson stains to mark where she had once been.

Holding the cup tightly in her bandaged hand she began to count, moving the coins around with the other so as not to stain them. $24.63. It was always an odd number like that, some using it as a chance to be ridden of copper shrapnel but she appreciated it all the same. Now storing it away she began to walk pushing her cart, each step a reminder and a new fresh sensation shooting up a reminder. She could not recall how she got these wounds or even who she was, but there was a pain that knawed greater still, a guilt inside, she justified she must have deserved them, a rationalisation to make sense of the world she found herself in.

Jane truly believed she had to have done something to deserve her circumstance, unable to accept the contrary that this would be inflicted for no reason, and so she made each step an act of penance in a way. As comfortable as it would be just to remain laid down, she had things she could do, and hopefully, through that, the guilt could ease even if a little, yet at the same time she hypocritically seemed to think doing it just to feel better was just being more selfish, a vicious cycle she had trapped herself in. One that left her feeling undeserving, yet in dire need, giving everything she had, but unable to get what she needed.

So for now she kept pushing the cart, maybe fortune would smile on her and she would find something of use among the alleyways to add to its contents, an old appliance one of those back at the camp could fix to make use of? some more clean cards, or some other useful resource for the most resourceful.