He walked away slowly, steam curling up from the bowl, the dog trotting behind him like it knew they were a team. Joshua settled by a wall near the alley, ate in silence, and tossed the dog a crust of bread. It caught it midair, tail wagging so hard its whole body shook.
Afterward, he tried to shoo it. “Go on,” he muttered. “You got your crumb.” But the dog didn’t move. It just sat there, tongue lolling, like it had found where it belonged. Joshua stared at it for a long minute. “Alright then… Lucky. That’s what I’ll call you. Because today, we both were.”
That day, Joshua’s cup stayed empty. No one dropped change, no one smiled. As the sky darkened, he stood slowly and headed for the alley behind the old bookstore—a quiet, tucked-away corner where he could sleep without being disturbed.
It wasn’t comfortable, but it was quiet. That was the best he could ask for now: a place to close his eyes. As he turned into the alley, he heard two people outside the bookstore, smoking and chatting like he wasn’t there.
“See what I mean? They’re everywhere,” one said.
The other shrugged. “Thank God for the citywide cleanup. Hopefully we’ll see fewer out here.” The words weren’t whispered. They didn’t care if he heard.
Joshua kept walking, but the words stuck. He hadn’t heard about a cleanup—not until now. It explained the police vans at the bus depot, the benches taped off with yellow ribbon. They were being pushed out, one small corner at a time.
That night, lying on the cold ground with Lucky curled against his side, his restlessness wasn’t from hunger. It was fear—fear that even the few safe spots he had left would be taken. If this alley wasn’t his anymore, where would he go?
He couldn’t keep running forever. Not without losing himself completely. Somewhere deep inside, a faint thought stirred—he had to try again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way, but now there was no time to hesitate.
He thought of the laundromat he used to sleep behind. It always smelled like soap and warm steam. Now a new sign hung in the window: Help Wanted – Temporary Position. It wasn’t much, but even a day’s work meant food. Maybe more.
Joshua knew the drill. He couldn’t walk in looking like this—not if he wanted to be taken seriously. He needed to be presentable. And he needed a phone number, an address—things he didn’t have. But something told him to try anyway.