Where did we fail you as a city? You were so agitated, and so angry about your past. You muttered nonsense, words that didn't string together into cogent sentences. You had a moment of clarity: you asked if my name was Alecia, you asked me about my tattoos. You seemed satisfied that my tattoo was of a bird. You had a story about a bird. Something upset you, and you stormed off the streetcar. You so desperately need services, but I don't think you'd accept them if offered. How do we help you?