Twenty-Four
Clarence half waved at the little girl, as the car sped past.
She stretched around to see him.
She remembered him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, jingled his change and kicked at rocks in the street.
He'd remember her anywhere. He glanced behind him at the car. A picture flashed into his mind of the kid in McDonald's on that terrible day.
Jingle. Jingle.
Heedless of cracks in the concrete, he plodded along the sidewalk, squeezing each fingertip and the thumb of the tiny glove in his pocket, memorizing the itchiness of the wool.
Until he bumped into a rebar stake driven into the ground.
He backed away and pivoted to get his bearings. Rubbed his jaw. Ow. That John had a strong right punch.
What building once stood here?
He couldn't think. It'd been too long.
He
