She was seen on the side of the road.
Faded jeans, T-shirt hanging by two threads, and a black hoodie. She was walking with a slight limp, her stride a crooked one. Unwashed, uncombed, and untidy, her red-brown hair was sporadically hanging on her scalp.
What once was a beautiful woman was now a very bummed homeless wanderer.
And then she was seen, in another state, in a hair-salon.
Expensive clothes, her black hair in a classy vintage updo, and her nails clean and painted. She had been talking to her hairdresser about her built, nearly finished career as a lawyer.
She was unashamed about her pretty face, and loved to flaunt it around.
These women are the same.
In the state, they go by the name Jane D.:
'My name is Jane. Jane Doe. I have many faces, many names. I'm noone and yet everyone. I'm all over the world and still not of this world. I'm not a person, yet I am many women. I have no real life, for I live many. I have no one to love, or to love me. I am just a name, without a face… No, I am a name with a thousand faces. My name is Jane. I am everywhere. I am everyone. I do everything.'
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