He slept until two in the afternoon. At 2:10 he was seated at the counter of a hash house on Addison. The counter girl had served him a cinnamon bun and coffee. He was biting into the bun when a voice beside him said, “The problem for today is nourishment.”

Corey turned his head. It was the little man, Carp. His sparse black hair was slicked down sideways with cheap pomade. The high starched collar was ripped at the edges and the rummage-sale clothing showed several patches. The jacket was a thick woolen material, the wearer seemingly unmindful of the 90 degree weather. Corey muttered, “Don’t know how you can stand it. You ain’t even sweating.”

“I’m too busy starving,” Carp said. “It’s a state of affairs known as stark malnutrition.”

“You really want food?” Corey muttered. “I thought you live on alcohol.”

“The needs of the body are various,” Carp said. He looked down along the counter, his eyes aiming cravingly at the heaping plate of lamb stew that the counter girl was serving to a customer. He called to her, “How much is lamb stew, Terese?”

“Thirty-five cents.”

“Including the bread?”

“That’s right,” Terese said.

“Excellent,” Carp said. “Excellent in all respects.” He looked at Corey. “Except I lack the necessary funds.”

Corey sighed. He called to Terese, telling her to bring Carp a plate of lamb stew.

“A truly noble gesture,” Carp said. “It calls for an expression of gratitude. Or let’s say a favor in return.”

“A favor?” Corey glanced sideways at the little man. “I don’t need no favors.”

“That’s debatable,” Carp said. He called to Terese, “I’ll have the beverage later, if you please. A demitasse.” And then, aloud to himself, “Let’s hope and pray it’s in the proper cup. The proper cup for a demitasse is pure white porcelain, paper-thin.”

Corey frowned at him. “You got something you wanna tell me?”

Carp didn’t answer. He was gazing into a small mirror, stained and cracked, set against some cereal boxes behind the counter. Carefully appraising his appearance in the mirror, he smoothed his greasy hair and adjusted his scraggly necktie. Terese arrived with the lamb stew and bread. Carp picked up the fork, holding it delicately with his little finger curved daintily. Tasting the lamb stew, he nodded slowly and approvingly, then took another taste and frowned carefully like a gourmet. “Perhaps a dash of thyme, to give it nobility. And a mere suggestion of marjoram—”