Ian stopped at an intersection.
On the sidewalk across from him, someone in a dark coat stood beneath a streetlight, holding what looked like a plastic board with several flyers clipped to it.
Ian did not immediately make out what it was. The distance between them blurred the details.
"Is this person in trouble?" He did not walk over, merely waited at the intersection for the signal to turn green. Once it did, he crossed the street, closing the distance. He saw that the person was holding a piece of cardboard with a few words written on it: Seeking Assistance.
There was no further explanation or contact information on the cardboard. The person's gaze did not linger on Ian, nor did it even turn in his direction. He merely sat at the edge of the sidewalk, resting the cardboard beside his knees, looking at the row of shops across the street with their shutters already pulled down.
His expression was calm. Only his lips pressed together slightly, as though he were deciding whether to speak. But in the end, he said nothing. He simply maintained that posture and tilted the cardboard so the light would better illuminate the words on it. When Ian passed in front of him, he neither slowed down nor deliberately sped up, continuing onward at the same pace as before.
As he entered the next stretch of road, there were hardly any streetlights on either side. Only one remained lit at the intersection. In its dim glow, he could see that a fine layer of dust had accumulated on the surface of a sewer cover. He walked up beside it without deliberately stopping, though he slowed his pace.
A faint sobbing sound came from beneath the cover. It was so soft, drowned out by the surrounding