Elias cleared his throat, the sound like dry gravel. "I could eat, little miss."
She handed him the bag. Inside was a warm bear claw, still sticky with glaze. "My grandma says sugar makes your heart feel like it’s wearing a sweater," she whispered. Cersetor La Colt De Strada
Elias looked up. A girl, no older than seven, stood holding a paper bag that smelled of cinnamon and yeast. Her father stood a few feet back, looking uneasy but allowing the moment to breathe. Elias cleared his throat, the sound like dry gravel
He didn’t ask for much, and he rarely looked up. He learned early on that eye contact was an intrusion people paid to avoid. Instead, he watched shoes. Polished oxfords meant a brisk pace and a firm "no." Scuffed sneakers sometimes yielded a crumpled dollar and a sympathetic nod. "My grandma says sugar makes your heart feel