Oh the humanity.

There's a girl sleeping on my couch right now. I don't know anything about her, except her first name, and the fact that she was at a party tonight. I was typing my paper when I heard someone call, "Help me?" I wasn't sure if I'd imagined it, so I opened my window and waited. "Somebody?" she called again, and I spotted her sitting on the pavement under the streetlamp outside my window.
"Are you ok?" I yelled, probably waking up at least one roommate.
"No," she said. "I'm really sick."
I grabbed a coat and told her I was coming down.
My friend Zen was down there when I got to her. We helped her up to my apartment, because she said she didn't know anyone on campus. "I never drink," she said. She was hiding behind her hair. I never saw her face. She apologized when she stumbled on the stairs.
She's sleeping on my couch now, still wearing my coat, with a glass of water and a bowl next to her head. Maybe in the morning I'll see her face. Maybe she'll be gone and I'll never know who she is.

When I told another friend what happened, he said “It was really good of you to help her.” I told him I didn’t think of it as good. It was the only human thing there was to do. I couldn’t watch somebody else suffer and not do anything about it. I don’t know anything about this girl; I don’t know why she didn’t have any friends with her, or why she couldn’t manage to drag herself inside a building where she wouldn’t be freezing, and maybe find a phone. That stuff didn’t matter. The fact was that she needed helping, so I helped her. That doesn’t make me a particularly good person, I don’t think. It just doesn’t make me a really terrible one.