ADDICTED AND SCARED, BUT NOT ALWAYS ALONE

The young woman twitches and sways convulsively as she patrols a
10-metre stretch of sidewalk. The stark brightness of the street light
overhead casts deep shadows over 118 Avenue, masking the woman's face
and giving her a small measure of anonymity.

Her eyes are hidden, but even while shrouded in the momentary haze
that follows a hit of crack, she scans the passing cars, looking for
any sign of interest from drivers.

A vehicle pulls up to the curb a few metres from her. Without
hesitation she steps toward it, but stops short and backs off when she
realizes it's a woman in the passenger's seat.

"Hey, how's it going?" Kari Thomason asks as she leans out the window.
"Remember me?"

The woman nods without looking directly at Thomason. She rocks back
and forth and concentrates on the ground in a failed attempt to stand
still.

"Everything all right out here tonight?" Thomason prods gently. "You
need anything? We've got condoms, sandwiches, candy, granola bars."

She steps forward and accepts a couple of sandwiches, stuffing them
into a shoulder bag. "I got condoms," the woman mutters.

After a few minutes of awkward, disjointed conversation, Thomason and
her partner, Jack Kraus, bid the woman good night and pull away from
the curb.

As they head away, another vehicle can be seen pulling into the spot
they had just occupied.

"Wow, she was flying," Thomason says grimly as she records in a log
the woman's name, where she had been standing and the time of the
encounter. Kraus and Thomason, two operators of the Snug outreach
program, know the woman well, having talked with her on an almost
weekly basis for months. "She barely even recognized us tonight."

This is a major part of Thomason's and Kraus's work. Project Snug,
operated by Metis Child and Family Services, is an outreach and harm
reduction program for street prostitutes. They spend countless hours
cruising Edmonton's prostitution strolls, getting to know the women
and keeping tabs on them.

They begin by offering them simple things, like food and condoms. As
the relationship builds, they let the women know they can help them
get drug rehab, help them with children's services, welfare --
whatever they need to get off the street.

Their job can be heartbreaking. One woman says at first she's just
waiting for a cab. Eventually, however, she admits that she and her
boyfriend are short on rent money so he sent her out to make a few
bucks.

"Why isn't he out here?" Thomason asks.

The woman looks down and remains silent.

Down on 107 Avenue, a woman crouches on the ground near a mailbox,
apparently taking a breather.

When she sees Thomason, she rises and reveals a massive, protruding
belly. She says it's a busy night - being seven months pregnant
doesn't deter the johns.

She's 28 and carrying her fourth child. The other three are all in
foster care, but the woman is determined to keep the baby.

"I've been clean for about a third of this pregnancy," she informs
them proudly.

Kraus offers to get her fast-tracked into a detox facility and then
into rehab.

"You gotta do it for the kid," he urges.

She accepts a sandwich, but doesn't respond to the detox offer -- the
siren call of crack is too powerful this night. She steps away from
the car and takes up her post, waiting for the next trick to come by.