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Four:  I wish I knew what goes on in there, I think. I press my face to the cloudy window, but I can make neither head nor tail through the film of opaque dirt on the other side of the glass. I hear a small cracking noise, but it doesn't come from inside the factory; it's from below me. The stack of crates I'm standing on sways to the side slightly, and I windmill my arms, trying to keep my balance. Crack. The bottom crate breaks, sending my to the ground like a forty-year-old sac of bricks. I'm getting too old for this, I think as I rub my backside.
It starts to snow, and I walk around to the other side of the building to get out of the wind. God, how I hate December.
Five: "Wait!" I called out, but she didn't stop. Her boot-heels clicked as she ran the other way. I chased her through the throng of people, and then she disappeared around the corner. When I got to that corner, I stopped, chest heaving. I caught a glimpse of her platinum hair as it disappeared into the park.
I called out again as I ran after her. Leaves and branches whipped at my face and threatened to tear my new jacket. She looked over her shoulder as she came to the edge of the park.
"Wait!" I called one last time. "I don't even know who you are!" She ran out of the park, across the road, and into the factory, leaving me alone with the dogwoods and pigeons again.
Six: The snow starts to fall heavier now, in clumps of thick, heavy flakes that collect on my brows and on my lashes. I wonder if they're serving Christmas dinner at the soup house. My stomach sure could go for a cup of hot chicken soup, the kind with the homemade egg-noodles and the big, meaty chunks of roast chicken.
"Hey, stomach," I say. "Do you think that if we start walking now, we might be able to catch Mom down in Florida next Christmas?" My stomach just grumbles in response, but I continue talking anyway.
"Do you think the put up Christmas trees down in Florida? Or do they decorate palm trees? Say, wouldn't that be a sight? There's a lot more room for presents under a palm tree, I'll tell you that. You ever been down to Florida, stomach?"
I rub my hands together. Jesus, it's cold outside. I start walking downtown, where all the stores are. Sometimes when I'm hungry, I look at all the pretty Christmas displays at the department stores. It distracts my attention from the hunger.
I stop at a showcase filled with television sets. Well, would you look at that? I think, this one says it's seventy-five degrees down in Florida. Seventy-five degrees is difficult to imagine when you have to flex your digits to see if they still work.
Seven: "Hey!" I yelled, pounding on the factory door. No one answered me. I turned around and sat down on the warm, cement steps for a few minutes, watching the pigeons. All of a sudden I noticed an odd feeling in my left hand and realized that I had been feeling it all along. I looked down to see my fist clutching that piece of apple pie. I wasn't sure if I wanted to smile or frown.
Eight: The church is just half a block from here. I can hear the choir singing "What Child is This?" I walk the short distance and go inside the church, taking a seat in the back. The music is so pretty; it reminds
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