"One at a time. There's enough for everyone. No grabbing, and no cutting in line."
Another line had formed beside the entrance to the Poorhouse, made up of children in ragged clothes.
Sifa stood beside them holding the cardboard box, serving as an extra pair of hands as he watched old Mr. Hadi smile and take pies and sweet iced tea from the box, handing them out to the poor children.
In no time, the box of food was empty, but it was nowhere near enough. Many children still hadn't received anything.
So Sifa went to a nearby bakery and bought some bread with his own money, then handed it out to the remaining children.
Then he noticed that the children didn't leave after receiving their food. They squatted or sat nearby and finished eating before leaving one after another.
"I asked them to do that."
Hadi pulled his collar up. Once the sun had set, the temperature in the street dropped sharply. Breathing into his hands, the old man said, "There are police here. They don't pay much attention, but at least their presence keeps adults from taking the children's food."
Sifa neither disagreed nor nodded, because he wasn't qualified to pass judgment on the old man's actions.
But he had also picked up on something in the old man's words.
Stealing.
Apparently, before the old man had made this request, stronger adults with an advantage over the children had snatched away the food given to them.
That was truly a sad thing.
Apart from those who were vicious by nature, Sifa believed an adult wouldn't steal food from a child unless they had nowhere left to turn.
"All right, let's go home."
Hadi clapped his hands and said, "We've done what we should and made every effort we