The woman who had called me, Denise, met me near the entrance.
“That’s where I saw him.”
She pointed toward the gap.
I crouched.
Black hair clung to one twisted piece of wire.
My chest tightened.
Past the fence was a strip of gravel leading toward a loading dock.
We walked around until we found an opening large enough for us to enter safely.
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Near the back wall was an alcove sheltered from rain.
There were flattened cardboard boxes.Browse Reference
A torn plastic food container.
An old foam cushion.
And beside it, several black hairs.
I stood without speaking.
“This is where he slept,” Denise said quietly.
Maybe.
We could not prove it.
But I knew.
Not because of anything dramatic.Try New Foods
Because of the smell.
The dirt.
The shallow depression in the cardboard.
And two scrape marks on the concrete beginning near the opening beneath the fence.
