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Then Christmas Eve came, and as I stepped out of Central Station with nowhere to go, no family waiting, no plans of any sort, Sgt. Lynch stood just feet from me on Vallejo Street, patiently waiting- for what? His girlfriend? He walked over and handed me a yellow rose nestled with a pine bough, wrapped in crinkly white paper. “Merry Christmas, Karen.” I took the rose and sputtered thanks, too stunned to say more.
