He was older, perhaps in his late sixties, with a weather worn face and sharp gray eyes that did not match the rest of him. He dressed simply, layers upon layers that suggested nights spent outdoors. He never called out to passersby. He never extended a cup or asked for change. He simply sat, observing the street as though it were a book he had already read but still found interesting.

The first time Lillian stopped, she surprised herself. She placed a small bill beside him and turned to leave.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

His voice was steady. Educated.