It was cold and dark, and the wind was blowing through his thin coat. He shivered. At least the bandanna over his nose and mouth helped keep a little warmth in, and holding the handle of the knife in his pocket was a comfort.
A man was walking toward him. A man in a suit and warm-looking overcoat, carrying a briefcase. He was hurrying, and the sound of his shoes on the pavement was almost like dog toenails on tile.
It was so cold, and he was so hungry. He needed some money for food, and maybe for a better coat, or a place to stay. The suit looked like he had plenty. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to ask him for some.
Of course, moving that fast, the suit would never stop for him. But he had the knife….
Then he thought of the suit’s—no, not the suit’s, the person’s—wife and kids and family. Was it really worth that man’s life for the few bucks in his pocket?
“Hey, mister,” Tommy called out to him, “you know where the homeless shelter is?”