The author, clutching both bread and a manuscript, walked dejectedly along the road home.
The wind grew stronger, a rumble echoed across the sky, and soon after, a torrential downpour followed.
The author had no choice but to run under the eaves to take shelter from the rain.
On either side of him were people—homeless drifters, clothed in rags and barely covered. Behind him, someone who hadn't awakened yet snored. Of all of them, he was the only one whose attire was still relatively clean and tidy. These were the clothes he'd specifically changed into to meet the editor-in-chief.
The rain drizzled on, and he stood quietly, aimlessly watching the raindrops splash into puddles, occasionally glancing down at the bread in his arms, then at the people around him.
"Gurgle gurgle..."
His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't even had breakfast yet. All he ate was a few crumbs of bread, and now it was already noon.
