He was leaning against a telephone pole at the end of the alley before straightening up. Inside the small paper bag he bought earlier was a single strawberry cream bread. The same day every week, the same time, this spot. It had been a routine for several months now. As the children scattered in small groups, a young girl dragged her bag down the bus steps. A round face with features just like her mother's. Small dog ears just like his. It felt like only yesterday she started kindergarten, but the child had already grown so much, waddling along with her bag zipper not even closed properly.