Julie's breath caught in her throat. The boy stirred, and whimpered quietly, but didn't wake up. He looked distraught, maybe having a bad dream.
What do I do? Julie asked herself. Fuck! A little boy is sleeping under the stairs to my apartment, what do I do? She felt like her head was going to explode. Her routine was slowly starting to shatter, and all she could feel was the start of an anxiety attack...
Julie assumed the little boy couldn't have been older than eight or nine years old. How sad. A child, sleeping outside. Where the hell was his mother?
Julie calmed herself down and tried to think of a rational solution. She collected the apples and set them down in front of the boy, and went upstairs to get a bottle of water and a clean blanket for him. It wouldn't be cold during the night, but the least she could do was leave him some food, and a new blanket. She considered calling the police to come and pick him up, but decided against it for some reason. She didn't know what his story was. What if he had run away from a bad home? He didn't appear to be hurt, not physically anyways. In the end, Julie went upstairs. She decided she would check on him an hour or two later. Instead of cooking her birthday food, she sat on the couch and stared at the wall.