The air is clammy as the sun begins to set. Outside the grocery store, two of the beggars that routinely spare-change on the corner by the bank stand by the dumpster, closely examining a shrink-wrapped styrofoam tray of brownish meat.
When I come out of the store, provisions in hand, they're gone, along with the meat and a box of wilted vegetables. I turn up the block and head home, unconcerned.
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