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The day James came to find me, I was crouched in an alley, washing dishes.
It was the dead of winter. My hands were soaked in ice-cold water, swollen, red and numb, yet I kept scrubbing mechanically, repeating the same motion over and over again.
One cent per dish.
If I finished this whole tub, I could afford a piece of bread from the 7-Eleven.
A single piece of bread was my only meal for the day.
Just as the red basin was about to be emptied, I heard someone call my name.
It was James Anderson.
Dressed in a tailored suit, he stood in stark contrast to the filth of the alley.
I froze, my hands stiff in the freezing water. I stared in disbelief as his tall figure came closer. But there was no sense of relief, no feeling of being saved from my suffering. Instead, it felt like a lifetime had passed since we last met.
"Time to come home."

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