This story is my first entry into Tin House’s Plotto Contest.
(Urban Fantasy — 499 words)
Martin Pechowski looked around the dim, underground soup kitchen, with its sad, assorted cast of castoff street characters, sitting at the round, dark formica-topped tables. He hoisted loose fitting pants, took his plate to the bus tray. He smiled faintly at the pretty young volunteer, took the chocolate brownie she offered as he headed up the stairs.
In the entryway, several boxes were being tossed onto a long table. First dibs, he thought.