Can I just say that I have no idea how I made it through the last two months. They called him Peaches because the only things he had with him were two small peaches and a rusty switchblade with the letters PR carved into it – all tucked into his socks – and a worn bible in his pocket. If I had shown up at work an hour or two earlier, who knows how fast he would have reached for his knife, and if I would still be here today. All I saw was his rotting finger – probably an old infection that never would have healed right anyway – but he haunts my dreams. I imagine he was a tall, thin, bald black man who just lost his wife and his job and couldn’t find his way back, so he ended up on the street, religiously reading his bible and praying for God to save him from his booze and his lonely peach obsession.