By late afternoon, his knees burned and his calves cramped. The sandwich from the morning was long gone. Lucky walked beside him with a soft limp—one of his paws must’ve landed wrong on a crack somewhere. Joshua crouched to check, whispered, “We’ll stop soon.”
He moved toward the outer edge of the city. Fewer people, fewer cops, and fewer risks of being told to move along. Past the loading docks, he found a stretch of wall with crates stacked high on one side and a slope of concrete angled just enough to rest against.