1<br >The Beginning:<br >A Pillow and a Yellow Blanket<br >"Click." As I heard the lock drop on the door of the brown<br >station wagon， I looked back and caught the apprehension<br >in Janet s eyes. A chill went through me as ! turned to watch<br >the silhouette of IYevor， our eleven-year-old son， as he<br >stepped silently toward the subway steam grate beside the<br >white concrete building not five feet in front of where I<br >stood on the curb.<br > The huddled body Trevor approached on the sidewalk<br >was almost lost in the chilly darkness on the corner of 15th<br >and Moravian Streets. A man in dirty pants and plaid shirt，<br >his head cradled in his right arm， was lying there like a dis-<br >carded newspaper. Although we were in the center of Phila-<br >delphia near the exclusive Union League Club， two-and-a-<br >half weeks before Christmas， we might as well have been on<br >a deserted Skid Row intersection. We were there alone with<br > that shoeless man， staring at his grease-stained white socks，<br > wondering whether he was unconscious or， worse， ready to<br > explode with rage.<br > The man did not move from the steamy grate. The air that<br > wafted up from underground surrounded him in a damp<br > cloud of warmth.<br > I stood frozen. My own breath veiled my view as it turned<br > to fog in the silent chill of a December evening. Each time I<br > inhaled， the stench of sewage filled my head. An unseen rat<br > scurried in between Trevor and me. I felt an eerie， nauseat-<br > ing churning in my stomach.<br >
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