Joshua tried to keep himself from keeling over, stomach tight with emptiness, eyes half-closed as the world blurred around him. In that haze, his mind pulled him back—to a cold afternoon outside the soup kitchen, the kind of day when hunger made every second feel sharp and stretched.
He’d just received a bowl of soup—watery but with enough vegetables and noodles—when someone behind him jostled forward. The impact knocked the bowl straight from his hands, and the soup splashed onto the pavement in a wet, steaming mess. He stood frozen, watching the broth soak into the concrete.