[ WP ] You are a homeless person washing yourself in a gas station bathroom when someone busts in with a gun to commit suicide . You try to talk them out of it .

I can hear the trucks pulling in. I can hear the drivers chatting, laughing, occasionally cussing or joking. I can smell coffee, hot dogs, and gasoline as I head for the showers. 
 I pray that one day, I'll have a job again. Even driving a truck across the country would be better than walking from town to town, hoping to find someone who'll hire me. The most I have is my high school diploma. That should have been enough. 
 I let the hot water run down my back, and watch the dirt flow down the drain. I'm glad the gas stations have these things. At least I wo n't look like I'm homeless. 
 I can suddenly hear sobbing. It's the kind of a truly broken heart. I abandon my thoughts and listen. 
 `` I ca n't... I ca n't...'' 
 A young woman about my own age grips the edge of one of the sinks. She looks like she has n't slept in days. She also has a gun in her hand. 
 I quickly shut off the water and wrapped myself in a towel. I approach her and ask what's wrong. 
 `` Everything. Everything is wrong.'' 
 I tell her that's not very specific and she gives me a dirty look. 
 `` I have nothing now. No job, no one who will help me. I ca n't do this anymore.'' 
 She explains to me that she ran away from home in her teens, and has been struggling ever since. It's also been hard for her to find and keep a job, or to finish her education. 
 I then tell her my story: how I fell on hard times, been wandering the country trying to start over. 
 She looks at me and asks, `` how can you live like this?'' 
 I tell her there's hope. My family may be estranged, but I can start my own. One employer may not think I'm qualified, but another might. 
 She looks at the gun in her hand again, as new tears flow. She sets it down and looks at me. `` I'm going to call my mom. Thanks.''
