Joshua opened his mouth, but no words came. His chest felt tight. He looked down at himself—wrinkled, damp clothes, hair plastered to his head. He felt small, exposed. The man softened a little. “We gave the spot to him. Sorry.”
Joshua turned and walked out. He sat on the curb, water soaking through his pants again. His hands rested in his lap, useless. Lucky sat beside him, quiet, no wag—just waiting.
The laundromat door opened. The man came out, handing him a foil-wrapped sandwich and a hot cup of coffee. “Take this,” he said. “You showed up. That counts for something.” Joshua nodded, taking it on reflex. The man went back inside.
He ate slowly, not savoring—just going through the motions. Half went to Lucky. The other half tasted like cardboard. The coffee’s warmth didn’t reach his chest. Everything he’d done, everything he’d hoped for—washed away in the rain.
He stood, cup empty, and wandered back to his usual spots, bag slung over his shoulder. He kept Lucky close, one hand resting on the dog’s back. Hours passed. No one stopped. No one slowed.
A man in a hoodie walked past twice. On the third pass, he muttered, “Get a job,” without looking. Joshua didn’t react. He didn’t have the energy. Outside a convenience store, someone flicked a coin near his feet. It rolled under a bench. He didn’t chase it.
By late afternoon, his knees burned and his calves cramped. Lucky walked with a soft limp—one paw must’ve hit a crack wrong. Joshua crouched down, whispering, “We’ll stop soon.”
He headed for the city’s edge—fewer people, fewer cops, fewer chances to be told to move. Past the loading docks, he found a stretch of wall with crates stacked high, a sloped concrete ledge just big enough to lean against. Dry, quiet, half-shielded from the wind.
Lucky curled up immediately. Joshua dropped his bag behind the crates, sitting with his legs stretched out. His shoes were soaked again. Didn’t matter. This wasn’t a place to be comfortable. It was a place to disappear.
Across the street, a broken light flickered over a backlot door. Beside it, a narrow alley cut between two buildings—no cameras, no movement. Joshua stared at it for a minute, then looked away. Just a shortcut. Nothing more.
He was asleep when the scream came—sharp, panicked, cutting through the dark. His eyes flew open. Lucky sprang up, ears pricked. Adrenaline flooded Joshua’s veins. That was no casual shout. Someone was in trouble.
He grabbed his bag, hunkering low. “Quiet,” he whispered to Lucky. The dog froze, alert. Another voice drifted over—male, muffled, sharp. Joshua squinted at the alley across the street. So dark he could barely see, but he knew something was wrong.
He crossed carefully, steps soft on the damp pavement. Lucky padded beside him, silent and watchful. Joshua edged up to the dumpster at the alley’s mouth and peeked around. A weak bulb flickered at the far end, casting faint light.
Inside, a woman was pressed against the wall, clutching her purse to her chest. A man loomed over her, his coat hanging open, one hand reaching for her bag, the other holding a small knife. “C’mon,” he growled. “Don’t be dumb.”