Henry loved Christmas. Not because of his family. He didn’t really have any family to speak of. No, he liked it because the local restaurants were usually throwing out lots of excellent food. Rarely did a Christmas pass that he didn’t scrounge something positively gourmet out of his usual round of dumpster diving. Something soft that didn’t aggravate his poor old teeth too much. One year he found an entire pan of discarded tiramisu. Another time, he had managed to salvage heaping handfuls of leftover mostaccioli. He’d felt full for a week after that, never mind the fact that he’d had to dig spaghetti sauce out of his fingernails for hours following the feast. Those memories blazed brightly in his mind, though he always had a vague impression he was forgetting something important. It usually didn’t occur to him until he settled down at night in the old heap of cardboard that served as his bed. The night usually brought unbidden the unwelcome memories of his past: jabbing needles, lungs burning with whatever concoction he’d decided to inhale that day. Better alive and sleeping in a pile of cardboard than re-living the waking nightmare of those years of his life. This dumpster was one of his favorites. It was the one where he’d found the tiramisu, and he knew it was about time it coughed up another delicious treat. He hefted his worn satchel higher on his shoulder, then hauled himself up, using his strong, wiry arms to pull his body into the dark confines of the metal dumpster. He could smell it; something good was in here today. Henry dug around quietly, humming a soft tune to himself. He found odds and ends, pieces of the restaurant bread some people had nibbled on and then set aside. These he stored for later. He was vaguely aware of some footsteps ringing off of the alley walls around him; such things usually didn’t concern him, though, and he went about his business. The pickings were good. He found a still-warm chicken carcass with most of the meat still left on it and someone’s half-eaten chocolate cake. Not quite tiramisu, but definitely a Christmas feast. He gathered his winnings and reached up to pull himself out of the dumpster. That was when he heard it. Henry knew the sounds of alleyways at night. There were a few scoundrels here and there—harmless old bags like him that just liked to get a scare out of the local business folk who worked past dark. There was wind, sometimes, and the giggling young folk who made their ways from bar to bar on the weekends. And then there was the sound of Trouble. Henry cautiously lifted himself up, sticking just enough of his head over the lip of the dumpster to take a slow, careful look around. The young woman was sprawled out on the ground, her legs kicking feebly. A dark mass was huddled at her head. A man, Henry could see through the darkness. He was whispering something to the woman, who was gripping at the man’s hands, which were wrapped around her throat. Henry thought the woman looked vaguely familiar, but he didn’t stare long enough to find out. Her body was going limp, and the man kneeling there was looking around, focusing on the mouth of the alley. He was finishing his business here and then leaving. Henry silently dropped back down among the refuse and waited, listening. His old heart thumped in his chest. He felt bad for the poor woman, but there was nothing much more he could do, unless he wanted to die too. He clutched his satchel to his chest, staring around with wide eyes. He didn’t like Trouble. He didn’t want Trouble. He had to get out of there—and fast. Henry squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to the woman’s strained struggles anymore. He counted silently in his head, knowing if he waited long enough, Trouble would pass. He just had to wait. Reaching the number one thousand seemed to take him hours. He had to start over twice because he got distracted thinking about the rapidly cooling chicken in his satchel. But he knew he had to wait before he could emerge and make his way home to his pile of cardboard. Finally, he ventured to take another peek around. The alley was empty. The man, Trouble, was gone. There was no body, either. Henry stared around again once more, just to be sure. Then, with a little laugh at himself, he clambered out of the dumpster and onto the pavement. Trust his imagination to run away with him again. He knew no one would want to hurt a woman like that. Silly to have even thought of it. Sightless blue eyes stared unblinkingly at his back as he left the alley.