The rain hit the pavement in sheets. It was cold. It was always cold in the city now. The neon sign buzzed. Red light bled across the wet asphalt.

Thomas stood under the awning. He wore the coat. It was old. The wool was thin. He could feel the damp seep in. He did not care. He watched the door.

It opened. A woman walked out. She was small. She moved fast. She looked left. She looked right. She did not see him.

Thomas stepped out. The rain soaked him instantly. He walked toward her. His boots made no sound. He was a ghost. He was a shadow.

He caught her elbow. She spun around. Her eyes were wide. Fear. Pure fear.

"Hey," Thomas said. His voice was rough. Like gravel.

"Let go," she said. Her voice shook.

"Wait."

He let go. She scrambled back. She pressed herself against the brick wall. Thomas stepped closer. He did not draw his gun. He kept his hands in his pockets.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"My name is Thomas."

"I don't care."

"Look at me."

She looked. Her face was pale. Her cheeks were hollow. She looked tired. She looked hungry.

Thomas looked at her. He saw the tremor in her hands. He saw the way her eyes darted. He knew that look. He had worn it himself.

"You're cold," he said.

"I'm fine."

"No," he said. "You are not."

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He held them out. She hesitated. She took one. He lit it for her. The flame flickered. It was small. It was bright.

She took a drag. She coughed.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't."

"Why?"

"Because we are the same."

She looked at him. Really looked. She saw the badge on his chest. She stiffened. She threw the cigarette to the ground. She stomped on it.

"Officer," she said. Her voice was hard now. "You are in the wrong place."

"I am where I need to be."

"You are a cop."

"I am a man."

She turned away. She walked away. Thomas did not follow. He stood in the rain. The water ran down his face. It mixed with the tears. He did not wipe them away.

The city was loud. Cars hissed. Sirens wailed. People shouted. Thomas was alone. He was part of the city. The city was part of him. They were one thing.

He went to the station. The building was gray. It was heavy. It smelled of coffee and sweat. The lights were fluorescent. They buzzed.

He sat in his desk. The chair was hard. The desk was wood. It was scratched. He looked at the wall. There was a clock. The hands moved. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The door opened. Captain Miller walked in. He was tall. He was broad. He wore a tie. It was red. It was bright.

"Thomas," Miller said.

"Captain."

"Put your pen down."

Thomas put his pen down.

"We have a report."

Miller placed a file on the desk. He tapped it. Once. Twice.

"Someone saw you."

Thomas looked at the file. He did not open it.

"Who?"

"A witness. In the alley. Near the corner store."

Thomas felt a chill. It was not from the rain. It was from the fear.

"Did they say anything?"

"They said you helped a thief."

Thomas laughed. It was a dry sound. It was ugly.

"Helped her?" Miller said. His voice was low. It was dangerous.

"She was cold, Captain."

"Does that matter?"

"Yes."

"It does not. You are a cop. You catch thieves. You do not feed them."

Miller leaned forward. His eyes were hard. They were steel.

"You are making a mistake, Thomas. A big mistake. The board is watching. The mayor is watching. We are under pressure. We cannot have loose ends."

Thomas looked at Miller. He saw the fear in the captain's eyes. It was the same fear. It was the fear of losing. The fear of dying.

"I am not a loose end," Thomas said.

"You are a liability."

Miller stood up. He picked up the file. He walked to the door. He stopped.

"Take the day off," he said. "Think it over."

He left. The door clicked shut.

Thomas was alone again. The clock ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He thought about the woman. He thought about her name. He did not know her name. He only knew her face. He knew her eyes. He knew her hunger.

He thought about the city. The city was a beast. It ate people. It chewed them up. It spat them out. It did not care. It only wanted to grow. It only wanted to consume.

Thomas was the beast. He was the teeth. He was the jaw.

He stood up. He picked up his coat. He put it on. He put on his hat. He walked out.

The rain had stopped. The streets were wet. The sky was dark. The stars were out. They were small. They were far away.

Thomas walked. He walked fast. He walked to the alley. He walked to the corner store.

The store was closed. The lights were off. The window was dark.

He waited. He waited an hour. He waited two hours. His legs ached. His back ached. His soul ached.

She came out. She was alone. She carried a bag. It was heavy. It was full.

Thomas stepped out. He blocked her path.

"Give it to me," he said.

She looked at him. She did not flinch. She looked tired. She looked defeated.

"I have to eat," she said.

"I know."

"I have to feed my brother."

Thomas felt a pain. It was sharp. It was deep.

"I know," he said again.

She opened the bag. She pulled out a loaf of bread. It was white. It was soft. It was warm.

She held it out. She offered it to him.

"Eat," she said.

Thomas took the bread. He broke it. He gave half back to her.

They ate. They stood in the rain. They ate the bread. It tasted like ash. It tasted like life.

When they were done, Thomas took the bag. He put it in his car. He drove to his house.

He put the bag on the table. He sat down. He looked at the bread. He looked at the milk. He looked at the apples.

He thought about his family. His wife. His son. They were gone. They were dead. The city had taken them. The poverty had taken them. The disease had taken them.

He was alone. He was only a shadow. He was only a ghost.

He picked up the phone. He dialed a number.

"Captain," he said.

"Thomas?"

"I am turning in my badge."

The line was silent.

"Is this a joke?" Miller said.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I am not a beast."

Miller hung up.

Thomas hung up. He took off his badge. He put it in a drawer. He closed the drawer.

He looked in the mirror. He saw his face. It was old. It was worn. It was his face.

He walked out of his house. He walked into the night.

The city was quiet. The cars were gone. The people were gone. The lights were dim.

Thomas walked to the park. The park was empty. The trees were bare. The grass was wet.

He sat on a bench. He looked at the sky. The moon was full. It was bright. It was cold.

He thought about the choice. He had chosen. He had chosen to be human. He had chosen to be weak. He had chosen to be free.

It was a terrible choice. It was a beautiful choice.

He closed his eyes. He listened to the wind. The wind blew. It whispered. It sang.

Thomas opened his eyes. He stood up. He walked away.

He did not look back. He did not look forward. He was here. He was now.

The city slept. The city dreamed. The city ate.

Thomas was gone. He was part of the rain. He was part of the stone. He was part of the silence.

He was free.

The rain began again. It was light. It was soft. It washed the streets. It washed the sins. It washed the blood.

Thomas walked. He walked on. He walked into the dark. He walked into the light.

He was alone. He was everyone. He was the city.

The city was his. The city was theirs. The city was nothing.

The end.