The man looked at my clothes, my shaking hands, and then at the way I was shielding Barnaby’s head from the sun.
“You look like you haven’t eaten in two days,” the man observed bluntly. “But that dog looks like a prince.”
“He’s all I’ve got.”
The man pulled a business card out of his pocket. It was for a local lumber and supply yard. “My name is Miller. I need guys to haul drywall. It’s back-breaking work. Minimum wage to start. But I pay weekly.”
I looked at him, stunned. “Why?”
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