Chapter 10

Seven years had passed—neither long nor short. The day Stanley got out, no one came for him. He was wearing the same clothes from seven years ago, now faded and hopelessly out of style. In his pocket were a few hundred dollars in release money from the prison. Initially, he attempted to secure a suitable job. He sent out his resumes, but as soon as anyone saw his assault record, they waved him off. Even construction work was out. The foreman said he was too old and slow for the heavy lifting. Eventually, he found work in a rundown part of the city, hauling water as a day laborer. He earned 50 cents a floor. Climbing dozens of flights each day, he barely made enough for rent and the cheapest takeout. At night, he crammed into an eight-person room, unable to sleep with the snoring and foul smells all around him. He aged fast. Half his head had turned white. One day, he delivered water to a high-rise in the city center. When he stepped outside, he froze. Across the street, a ma