“Oh, thank fuck,” Anita sighed in relief. “GOD,” she then over-corrected. “Thank GOD.”

Her hands were grimy. The bodily smell only grew stronger, and lingered on his hands.

Not unexpectedly, she slipped on the floor. Grasped sleeve and elbow to keep from meeting face to paver in something that couldn’t quite be called prayer, at least any more than ‘God damn it’ could be.

“We’re going to get you some clothes,” Anita declared with utmost solemnity.

And so, dangerously teetering from one side to the other, Anita turned to the double doors once more. Careened into them, but hardly let that stop her.

Staring straight into shadeless sunlight, however, had her ducking behind her arm. Was it always so bright this time of day?

“Shit, that’s rude,” she muttered, then looked left and right with watering eyes.

It was half a block before she realized he’d asked her something.

“We’re going to get you some clothes, James.”

Whew! James had shot up like a weed these last-… how old was James again?

“Do you have a crowbar?”