He spotted a crumpled paper bag half-stuffed with a sandwich. The bread was soggy, the meat dried out, but it was still edible. He checked for mold, already mentally dividing it with Lucky—then the café’s back door slammed open. The manager stepped out, scowling, his phone already in his hand. Joshua didn’t wait around.
He grabbed his bag and whistled once. Lucky was at his heels in a heartbeat. They walked fast—not running, but quick enough to vanish before anyone could call out. They’d been chased off before. Cops meant warnings, not kindness, and kindness was the only thing keeping them going. Joshua wasn’t about to risk it.
They didn’t slow until they were two blocks away. Joshua sank against a lamppost, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his chest burning. The street hummed around him—cars zooming by, people hurrying with purpose, none sparing him a glance. He held out his chipped cup, keeping his head down. A minute passed. Five. Nothing.
Joshua looked down at Lucky. The dog wagged his tail, tongue lolling in that goofy, unjudging grin of his. No blame, no shame—just pure loyalty. Joshua scratched behind his ears. “At least you think I matter,” he muttered, his voice dry and tired. But that little wag made the emptiness feel lighter, somehow.
Someone slowed. A teen girl, her backpack slipping off one shoulder. She glanced at him, dug into her bag without hesitation, and held out a sandwich in a sealed zip-top bag. No words, no stares—just a quiet gesture. Joshua stared at it. “Thanks,” he whispered. She nodded and melted into the crowd.
He turned the sandwich over in his hands—thick, fresh bread, real ham, wrapped clean. His stomach twisted; it would’ve been the best meal he’d had in weeks. He peeled it open, and Lucky sniffed the air, licking his lips. Joshua didn’t hesitate. He tore off half and held it out.