The man stirred slightly, shifted his weight, and his head lolled to the other side without waking.
Joel crossed the street.
He approached from the left, keeping to the outer edge of the lamp post's reach, staying in the darker band between the light and the shadow. The fog helped. He kept his footsteps light — he was very good at that, had always been, the naturally quiet person whose approach you don't register until they're already there.
He crouched down in front of the man.
Up close, he was younger than he had looked from across the street — mid-twenties, perhaps. A working man by the look of his hands and his coat. Square jaw, broad nose, the beginnings of a beard coming in dark across his chin. The hair was close enough.
Joel tilted his head slightly, studying the face.
Close enough for what he needed.
He reached into his coat pocket.
