Every night at nine o’clock they come shuffling into the little church courtyard for a meal and a flop.
A ragged procession of figures carrying bundles comes down the alley and through the gate. The courtyard is quickly getting crowded. Dark clusters of men stand shifting their feet. Hands in pockets, chins buried in collars, shoulders hunched, hats and hoods dusted with the falling snow.
“You gotta ask inside. You can if they got room for you.”
Near the steps one of them is rubbing his bare hands vigorously.
“My pockets aren’t big enough for wearing gloves.”
“Did you shovel this walk?” a man in an army coat asks the blue-capped man.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
“Than’ you! Than’ you! I jus’–I jus’ wanned y’all t’know that I dinnit do it for no money. I dinnit for us.”
