It's the man I passed on my way to Austin. He towers over me. A pale blue cotton shirt, torn into rags, falls from his body in long strips.
"Stale bread." I attempt to keep my facial features neutral as I lie.
The man's eyes hold my gaze. "No," he protests. "You have pills. I saw them. What are they?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply. "You must have been dreaming." Huddled bodies stir. A child begins to wail. "Look, I'll give you some of my bread if you promise to go back to--"
"Do you think I'm a fool?" The man growls. "I know what I saw. You give me the pills and you won't get hurt."
"Pills?" Asks a woman, laying nearby, as she rubs her eyes.
The man's eyes are hard with aggression even in the dim of moonlight. I turn and squat over Austin. I remove his tuque and b
