Cheap clothes swaddled the corners of your bones, bare pins held back strands of hair. He stood by your elbow. The baby was wrapped in a graying towel that had two red bands running round. Drizzle fell and you peered from the roadside, waited for a break in the traffic. Three of you together. Not like some – no affairs boredom meanness. Just together. He at your elbow, thin body encompassing you and the baby. Strangely a family. Young, wet, poor, cold. But not hopeless. Not hopeless. No one was going to draw the hope from your cold bones.