Over the next few days, Link became a fixture on the street corner.
He found a temporary job washing dishes in a nearby kitchen, one that required no ID and paid a few dozen dollars a day. It was just enough for a bed in the cheapest capsule hotel, a few pieces of dry bread, and a cup of the cheapest coffee.
His life had been pared down to its simplest form: survive, then keep watch.
Every morning, while Gotham City was still shrouded in mist, he went to the twenty-four-hour café on the corner and took the seat that gave him a clear view of the clinic.
He watched Harley leave for her morning run in workout clothes, disappear down the street, then return half an hour later with a light sheen of sweat.
He watched her unlock the clinic and begin her day. Sunlight streamed through the window, bathing her in a soft glow that made her look like a figure in a classical oil painting.
He watched her receive all kinds of patients: a blue-collar worker depressed after losing his job, a young student anxious about exams, and even a homeless man who claimed he could see aliens and whom other doctors had diagnosed with delusions.
Harley treated every one of them with the same patience and respect.
She gave the homeless man, who could not afford a consultation, a cup of hot cocoa. She listened to him talk for two hours straight about the "Lizard People Conspiracy," taking careful notes as he spoke.
She encouraged the depressed worker, telling him that losing his job did not mean losing his worth, and helped him contact a community job-training center.
She practiced breathing exercises with the anxious student and eased his nerves with lighthearted jokes.
Link watched it