Raymond parked his fully loaded, self-driving Tesla outside of the Fifth Street Men's Shelter. The facility was a one-story, run down building built next to a strip bar. "This whole block looks seedy," he observed. Frowning, he removed his sunglasses and pulled on a Calvin Klein black leather jacket. He was dressed in fashionably worn Affliction jeans and a black t-shirt. A dark green, cashmere scarf was casually wound around his neck. The color matched his new rough terrain Adidas sneakers. He stepped out of his vehicle and a disorientating sense of deja overcame him. The copy shop he had worked at in his twenties had been in an area not much better than this one.

At one point in my life, I was comfortable on the streets.

Raymond headed for the front shelter doors. A large rat emerged from behind a dumpster and raced across his path with a squeal. "Oh, God." He jumped sideways and collided with a rusty trash can. To his horror, he accidentally bumped into a long-haired hippie. Wearing sunglasses and a western poncho, the man had been slouched against the wall like an aging Clint Eastwood.

"Hey, watch it!" The vagrant eased off the wall and took a menacing step forward. 

Seeing spittle in the man's beard, Raymond took two quick steps back. The streets had changed since he'd been on them. The hirsute man was cohabitating with rodents.

Jeezus—what if he has rabies?

The grungy vagrant spun around and grabbed the handle of an old shopping cart. Leaning forward, he slowly pushed it towards the garbage bins stationed in front of the next-door topless bar. The cart's rusty wheels squeaked and Sinclair winced. He didn't notice the white catering van parked a few spaces away from his Tesla. Two men wearing catering uniforms watched carefully as he entered the brick building.

Inside the shelter, his aesthetic senses were assaulted by the harsh lighting and cheap furniture. The drab decor and cheap lights made electricity crackle in his brain. He swiped his chin and pushed an imaginary pillow from his face as he tried to breathe as little as possible. The building was obviously not up to code and should be ripped down. Probably full of mold an asbestos. A small whine made him look down. A mangy, fawn colored dog ran up to him and sniffed his sneaker. He sidestepped the overweight beast and addressed the hoody clad youth at the front desk.

"I'm here to talk to Evelyn Simmons. I understand she's works here now."

Joe's chin tilted up slightly. His eyes narrowed at the visitor's arrogant tone. "Who are you?"

Unable to read verbal social cues, the CEO didn't recognize the warning timbre of the young man's voice. "Raymond Sinclair—I own CENTIEN." He pointed to the computer the hoodlum squatting at the desk was using. "People usually know who I am. That's one of our laptops," he said with a smirk.

The young man shut his device. "Yeah, I thought that's who you were." His tone conveyed that he recognized an ex-boyfriend stalker when he saw one. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Evelyn's not available right now. Why don't you leave a phone number. I'll see she gets it."

Raymond's face froze. She's keeping me at arm's length. That's rich. "What's with the Five-star restaurant screening? Just tell me where she is."

"It's none of your business." Joe leaned back in his chair and took a sip of water. The youth observed him as if he was a privileged asshole. Eyes gleaming, the ruffian took a bite of a shiny red apple.

Raymond remembered a piece of advice from Dennis's book. When thwarted, try a conciliatory approach—honey tames bees. "Listen, you look intelligent. This is important—I have good news for her."

"Why don't you give me the message and I'll make sure she gets it." Under the table, the heels of Joe's high-topped Converse thumped against the floor.

"If I wanted to be impersonal, I would have sent her an email. I have to talk to her."

I need to deliver the news like a knight in shining armor and ride in to rescue her from this disgusting nightmare.

"In that case, have a seat." Josiah nodded at a red vinyl couch. Despite having a hot dog shaped bed on the floor, the ugly critter was curled up on the couch in a patch of sunlight. Raymond's left eye twitched as he glanced between the couch and the overstuffed chairs. He felt an uncomfortable prickle of sweat under his pits."

"I'm allergic to dogs," he lied. An urgent need to see Evelyn overtook him. These hoodlums might be holding her hostage here against her will. "Who's in charge?"

"Deedee Diamond." Josiah pulled out his phone, scrolled though his messages and ignored him.

"Where is this, Deedee?"

The young man didn't look up. "She's at the mayor's fundraiser." From the back of the facility, he heard muffled voices.

He raised his head like a hunting dog on the scent. Pulling out his phone, he locked onto Evelyn's precise location. "I can hear her. She's out back." He strode towards the hallway and breezed past the agitated receptionist.

"Hey! You can't go back there." Josiah grabbed his arm.

"Let go of me!" Raymond tried to yank his arm free and was spun around. He found the wiry youth was much stronger than he appeared. Raymond dropped his phone. He watched in horror as the dog ran over and pawed at the platinum device. "Stop that!" The dachshund grabbed the phone in its mottled gums and then scurried into the dining hall. He ripped his arm free and scrambled after the four-legged thief.

Raymond stalked through the swinging double doors into the dining area and spun in a circle. Look at this place. There's no tech. How can people live like this?

"Shit," he said louder than he intended.

"You say something?" A rheumy eyed bum, wearing a girl's pink American Eagle pom beanie, dirty orange puffer vest, and a pair of oversized, black combat boots sitting at one of the cafeteria tables looked at him. He was emaciated. Even with his clothes on, he couldn't weigh more than one hundred and forty pounds. He gave Raymond an affable smile. Another shelter resident, a brown giant who had been playing Scrabble with another resident, slowly rose from his seat.

"It's ok, Charlie." The gray bearded man's voice was surprisingly cultured. To Raymond's relief, the brooding line-backer-sized man resumed his seat. "Alister, let me have that." The salt and pepper haired, grizzled man gently retrieved the phone from the dog and wiped it on his cargo pants before he returned it to the harried CEO.

"My name's Roger, but people call me Doc." The man had shrewd, but kind eyes.

Raymond nodded, glancing warily at the burly giant as he gingerly accepted his phone from the white-haired man. He placed the phone in his jacket until he could disinfect the dog drool from it.

"You're Raymond Sinclair. What are you doing here? Aren't you out your zip code?"

Sinclair hesitated. He didn't like interacting with people and preferred his own company. He hated idle conversation because he no longer understood the point of it. Curiosity overcame him. This was all new to him. He wasn't like these people, the lazy drug addicted parasites who would rather come here and scrounge a free meal instead working an honest job to feed their addictions. He had no training at how to survive the streets. "I'm looking for someone."

The former physician raised his right eyebrow. "I was once one of the most esteemed psychologists in New York," he informed Raymond. Why don't you have a seat and tell me what's bothering you."

A radiator hissed with warmth, but he shivered as he observed the ominous gray clouds gathering outside, threatening to spit hail. The smell of Italian cuisine wafted from the kitchen and made his mouth water. Where would these people go if they didn't come here for a hot dinner?

The older man followed Raymond's gaze. "The weather's going to be especially nasty this winter."

Raymond felt himself drawn to the other man's calming presence and his enigmatic aura. He was curious how a former successful psychologist ended up homeless. The old man put both his hands on the table and started pushing down to stand up. Before Raymond could respond, Joe stalked into the dining hall. "Hey you, get away from Doc."

His shouts, followed by an explosive door opening, knocked the old man backwards into his seat. Joe and Raymond collided like dominoes and rolled to the ground in a tangled heap of arms and legs.

"What are you still doing here?" Joe head butted him. "I told you to leave!"

"Fuck you! I'm not leaving until I see Evelyn."