I never told my arrogant son-in-law I was a retired Federal Prosecutor. At 5 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning, he called: “Pick up your daughter at the bus terminal”.

tempo against the sleet.

Under the flickering, jaundiced yellow light of a broken streetlamp near the terminal entrance, I saw it.

It was a solitary figure, curled into a tight, miserable ball on a freezing metal bench. The bench was covered in a thin layer of fresh snow. The figure wasn’t moving.

I slammed the brakes, throwing the car into park before continue reading …