jemstone

I stood in front of a pile of snow. I had a hat in my hand, slightly damp. Red velvet and white fur. Something told me it was rabbit, and I knew it would fit. I'd been walking back from the shelter when I heard him. Coughing up blood in an alley, staining his chalky beard black with the bad blood. His face had been fat, once. He'd been a big man. Now his clothes didn't fit him right, and he was thin, almost reedy. Boots were too big, three, four sizes. They'd been worn down to the bare leather of the sole, and there were holes. So many holes, in his clothes, and his shoes, and his gloves. "It's cold out here, sir," I said, reaching out my h