Chapter 150

• It started raining again the next afternoon, the kind of rain that makes the street shimmer like it has been newly polished. I was standing by the front table arranging a set of hand-stitched scarves when I saw them. Not all of them from yesterday, but enough that I recognized the faces, the way their coats clung damp to their shoulders.
• The signs were gone this time, though a few carried folded pieces of cardboard under their arms. They didn’t chant. They stood together under the narrow strip of awning across the street, talking quietly, their breath turning into mist in the cool air.
• I didn’t hesitate. I walked to the door, pushed it open, and let the air and sound of the rain spill in. The sudden shift made a few of them glance up.