Tall step, long step, up to the tables in the window, like climbing onto a raised stage.
Catches her toe, tumbles forward hard, lands on knee and wrist, rolls sideways to take the weight off, expecting the worst.
"You ok?" She's elderly and homeless and addicted. I hope she's not hurt.
"Yes, yes, shaken, not broken." Squeezes her knee, squeezes her wrist.
I reach to help her up but she's already nodding.
This is how addicts die. They fall and hit their head on the coffee table. Pass out and drown in the bathtub. Stumble and die of hypothermia at night in the snow.
One day there'll be treatment that works.