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.
One Tuesday, a pair of bright red rain boots stopped. They didn't shuffle past. "Are you hungry?" a small voice asked.
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. "I could eat, little miss."