The next morning, he walked to the shelter he hadn’t stepped foot in for over a year. The woman at the desk didn’t recognize him, but she listened. When he said he wanted to apply for work and needed help, she nodded. There was space, she said.
They could give him a bed for a few days. A place to shower. He could use the shelter’s landline for callbacks, list their address on forms. They even had donated shirts and jackets in the back, if he wanted to look neat.
It felt almost like a dream. For the first time in years, a plan was taking shape—him, in clean clothes, handing over an application, shaking someone’s hand. Hope bloomed in his chest, bright and unexpected.
Then it wilted. “No dogs allowed,” the woman said, apologetic but firm. “It’s policy. You’d have to leave him outside, or with someone else. I’m sorry.”
The words landed like a weight in his chest. No dogs. No exceptions. He’d been so close to something solid—something that could pull him up—and now it was gone, because the only one who’d never left him wasn’t welcome. Rules didn’t bend. Joshua knew that.
He looked down at Lucky, dozing at his feet, trusting as ever. Joshua froze. The choice was clear, but it wasn’t fair. He left quietly. If Lucky couldn’t come, neither could he. Some things never changed.
Disappointment sat heavy, but wallowing wouldn’t help. If the cleanup kept going, he’d lose his last safe corners—and if that happened, he’d lose Lucky too. He had to move fast.
He cleaned up at the gas station restroom, same as always: a squirt of soap from a nearly empty dispenser, a splash of cold water on his face, a scrub of his arms with crumpled tissues. His reflection in the foggy mirror was blurry, but clearer than usual—damp hair, tired eyes, but awake.
Outside, a bakery’s trash bin caught his eye. A half-eaten croissant sat on top, still warm inside, no mold. He broke it in two, eating slowly, savoring every crumb. Lucky wagged once. Joshua handed over the other half without a second thought.
A block away, by a small church, a donation box read: PLEASE DONATE USED CLEAN CLOTHES. He peeked inside. Beneath an oversized coat lay a folded pair of brown pants and a plain button-down—clean, decent, nothing fancy. He grabbed them like they were treasure.
As he turned to leave, a woman sweeping the doorway called out, “Find what you were looking for?” Joshua paused. “Yeah,” he said, surprising himself. “Got a job interview.” She smiled, like she believed him. “Good luck with that.” He nodded, thanked her, and walked off.