She went back inside with her stomach hollow and her chest strangely full.
The next day he was there again.
So was she.
For six months Victoria kept feeding him.
Some days it was half her sandwich.
Some days it was all of it.
Once she handed him the little bag of pretzels her mother had tucked beside an orange and lied later that she had dropped them in a puddle.
When the weather turned cold, she hid the exchange in the few minutes before staff noticed who was missing from the lunchroom.
It became a ritual stitched together out of timing and silence.
He stood at the fence.
She came with food.
