I nearly dialed 911 on the tattooed teenager holding a screaming baby inside an empty 1 AM laundromat. Then his bag tore open, and my stomach sank with utter shame.

across the worn linoleum.

I expected stolen items. I expected weapons or something illegal.

Instead, a thick, heavy hardcover book crashed onto the tiles. Hundreds of colorful, handwritten index cards flew out, scattering like confetti over the dirty floor.

I peered from my hiding spot. The bold letters on the cover of the large textbook read: *Fundamentals continue reading …