Jenna

A young girl, probably 20 years old, approaches me after I walk out of the truck stop. She is small, just over 5 feet tall, with an old, oversized coat and sweatshirt under her coat. She is wearing worn blue jeans with tears at the knees. She has on old tennis shoes, and has a backpack slung over her shoulder. Her hair looks ok, a bit disheveled; and she has cute eyes under a dirty face, but it's clear she is down on her luck. "Sir," she asks, "you wouldn't happen to be headed out West would you? I don't have much money, but I sure could use a ride out of here."