jacketless, jobless, holding a rusty coin that suddenly felt ridiculous in my palm.
My breath came out in a thin cloud.
The woman adjusted the jacket around her shoulders. The sleeves hung slightly long on her, and the sight made me feel both strangely satisfied and suddenly sick with what had just happened.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“It’s not your fault,” I managed, though my throat burned as if I’d swallowed smoke. “I guess I should’ve known better.”
She tilted her head slightly, watching me.
“No,” she said. “You
