The Gloves Her name is Debbie. I didn’t know that until today. My walking buddy and I have seen her many times, sitting on a piece of cardboard near a chain-link fence at the liquor store. No matter the weather, she hovers, bent over in her squatting position. On our daily walk we quietly wonder what her story might be, sympathizing with her for what we have that she does not. We wonder where she is when we don’t see her, and we even put a care package in the car during this winter so we could give it to her.  I walk alone on Wednesdays and I tend to lose myself in thought, head down, unaware of my surroundings. One Wednesday I heard her calling out for me to be careful because with the large piles of snow cars couldn’t see me.  I yelled, “Thanks.” Though I was deeply moved that a person of the streets cared to caution me, I kept going. Everything changed today when I walked over to her and began a conversation. It was shortly after ten in the morning, she sat on her ca...