On the first day, William told himself he would be paid tomorrow.
On the second, he went back to the yard. The man who had hired him was not there. Another man said he knew nothing about it.
By the third morning, getting to his feet took planning.
He sat beneath a stair with his knees drawn up, listening to the city begin work. Doors opened. A broom scraped grit into the lane. Somewhere close by, fat hissed in a pan.
He stopped listening to that.
Near midday, a carter offered him a heel of bread for helping shift a broken wheel. William got his shoulder beneath the axle. For a moment the lane went white around the edges.
“Have you got it?”
“Yes.”
They worked the new wheel into place.
William took the bread around the corner before eating. He had meant to make it last. The first mouthful was gone before he had properly tasted it.
The second he chewed until his jaw ached.
There were crumbs on his palm. He pressed one finger against them and ate those too.
A boy passed the mouth of the lane, glanced at the bread, then looked away quickly.
William watched him go.
He looked down at what remained. It was not much. He broke it, keeping the larger piece without pretending otherwise.
“Here.”
The boy hesitated.
William put the smaller piece on a clean part of the step and moved away.
He ate his own slowly, and went back to the yard to ask again.
