““Wear every bit of your clothing in case you have to skedaddle,” he had advised Clay. He was sitting in front of the crate, the inside of which was now lined with rolled newspapers. Although it was Friday, the noise of traffic was muted. A thin layer of snow, the first of the winter, covered the park, the benches and iron railing, and the streets. The twigs of trees were sheathed in ice. Buddy was groaning softly, rubbing the backs of his ankles. Clay knew that his chilblains were hurting him. ...Buddy had on a pair of cotton work gloves he’d picked up somewhere. “Picked up somewhere” was how he described most of his finds. The cold was intense. It had been three mornings since Gerald had last appeared with a big thermos of coffee, wrapped sandwiches, and doughnuts, stepping out of a taxi and calling for someone to come and help him carry the food into the park. He was probably in court, Calvin said, defending his dastardly deed of bringing breakfast to people, and trying to get his van back.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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