It killed him to go to the food bank. He went for the kids.
You didn't let your kids go hungry when there was food available even if you did have to crawl for it.
He thought about having Mary go in for it and he'd wait outside, but he forced himself to suck it up.
They had to walk. If the master cylinder hadn't gone on the Ford he'd get to more job sites. Now he had no transportation and the buses were a joke.
``Let's get this over with,'' he said.
They carried the stroller with her retarded kid in it down the stairs and into the church basement, the other two following behind. There were smiling people who looked you up and down to make good and sure you weren't free loading.
Then Mary saw the clothes. A table strewn with donated clothing. She pawed hungrily through the dated sweaters, exhausted jeans. She held up a blouse of magic blue. Clear and bright as the summer sky.
Anger swelled and clenched within him.
``We're here for food!'' he said.
``But I love this blouse! I love it - look at the color!''
People were watching.
``Put it down!'' he said.
Mary held the blouse against her body, her eyes full of tears.
``Put it down!''
She put the blouse down and picked up the bag of groceries.
``Let's go!'' he said.