Dumps

He wanted reclamation. The Warren wanted something else. Hendrick knows the bakery route by heart. He could walk it with his chin lowered, eyes on fractured sidewalk, but the window always stops him—not for the pastries arranged behind the glass, but for the faint outline staring back. A gourd of a man. A shape he refuses to study but cannot stop glimpsing. Once a wrestler, disciplined and desired...