The market manager leads me to a rag and bones homeless woman, who has my credit card.

She’s leathery, and wears a torn, black overcoat. She reluctantly returns my silver card, regarding me with scornful eyes.

Ragbones doesn’t return my license. I forget to ask her for it.

It starts to pour on the darkened streets. I climb a scaffold to cross a bridge, holding a rectangular umbrella. Ragbones shouts up at me, “ Hey, can you let me have your umbrella?”

I decide to give it to her, even though she stole my wallet, because she needs the shelter.