He walked to his car from the grocery store with a bag of greens, a bag of shredded cheese, and a bag of frozen chicken breasts. It was dark out, but Dave could see just fine because of the streetlights. He could see the city, but not much else. It’s something like living in a cave; you can’t see the night sky in a cave. We’re still searching for fire; the cave’s just a lot bigger. The whole clan still lives here in the cave, but we don’t know what to call each other. May as well just be grunting sometimes.

I’d better hurry home; this chicken will take a while to cook.

He was driving away when he saw a man laying down under a streetlight with a cardboard sign. Oh! Now’s my chance. He rolled down his passenger’s side window and reached for what was left from his tips. It’s late out; he’s probably a little desperate for whatever he needs: food, water, cigarettes, or booze. Dave only had two ones. He knew that wasn’t enough to cover much. He dug a little more and found a five.

The man noticed Dave’s car had slowed. He noticed the open window and started to get up. He had a slow and sore looking walk, like someone stepping out of a brief dream and into a body crumpled from years of hard use.

“Hey, how you doing, man?” asked Dave.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Awe, not too good,” said the man. He was probably in his fifties. He was a small guy with a voice that creaked like an old door. His accent might have left you imagining he’d just come down from the mountains somewhere, someplace you’d never heard of. His white beard and dirty flannel shirt made him look indigenous to the city's gutter. Dave couldn’t get a good look at anything else; it was too dark out.

“Someone done stole my socks,” said the man.

“How’d that happen?”

“While I was sleepin’. They stole my socks while I was sleepin’.”

“Seriously? Who does that?”

“That’s what I said. What kind of person do you have to be to steal someone’s socks while they’re sleepin’? Damn junkies.”

“Well, here you go,” said Dave as he reached as far as he could toward the man. His hand poked out of the window with the two ones wrapped around the five. “That should get you some new socks.”

“Thanks, man. I just still can’t believe it: who steals someone’s socks?”

Dave’s mind turned back toward the chicken as he let his car creep forward, saying, “I can’t believe it either. Have a good one, man. I’ll see ya.”

“Thanks! I’ll see ya.”

Dave drove away knowing he’d probably never see that man again; the cave they were living in was a big place, the kind where nobody really knows anyone. The kind where somebody would steal a man’s dirty socks while he was out cold.

I’ve gotta get home. Gotta make supper. I wish I could’ve done more for that guy. I’m not sure I actually did any good at all. I think all I did was dribble a cup of water on a burning house. People aren’t houses though; he probably appreciated it, and that’s what matters… I think.