Mrs. Avery had a family commitment that evening, so my supervisor had reluctantly allowed me to bring the twins to work, where they spent most of my shift sleeping in a secondhand double stroller behind the front counter while I finished a large copying order for a law office.
By the time I locked the shop, it was nearly nine, the temperature had dropped, and I had exactly ten dollars left in my coat pocket.
That money mattered enormously.
My paycheck would not arrive until Monday, and the ten dollars was supposed to cover two bus rides, a loaf of bread, milk, and perhaps a small container of oatmeal if I could find one on sale.
I had already planned every dollar before stepping outside.
Then I saw the man beneath the awning of a closed pharmacy.
He looked to be somewhere in his late sixties, tall but slightly stooped, with silver hair that had become wet around his temples and a dark wool coat that looked expensive once but was now wrinkled, stained along one sleeve, and completely soaked near the shoulders.
