He stopped for a break in the shade of an oak tree. Through the leaves, he glanced up at the sun and clouds. It was already four thirty. The light was starting to turn to the golden glow of evening. In any case, he could give Becca a report—a failing one.
He had walked into every shop that had a sign for help wanted. Even Target wouldn’t take him.
Either jobs were for suckers or he was unemployable. The hiring managers couldn’t stop staring at his injured eye.
There had to be someone at this place that would take him seriously. Wasn’t there one person in this whole damn city with an ounce of sympathy?
Less than ten seconds after sitting down at a bench to eat his hotdog, he spilled mustard on his new shirt. He dabbed the stain with a napkin and cursed. Then he buried his head in his ha
