It started as little things at first, enough money so he could last a day or two without begging, some times a container of hot soup that she hid under her coat to bring to him. As the days grew warmer she brought fruit and cold drinks. They talked only about her life, not his and despite the pain of hearing about a normal life he listened to her talk. They stood in shadows mostly but sometimes she risked being seen walking with him and he risked being back in the zone by dark just to be with her. Rosie knew of course but she did not say anything. She knew he was not on his patch regularly. He tried giving her stuff to trade that the girl had given him but Rosie knew it was too good for him to have just found. She knew where it came from and refused to take it. He began sensing things he had not felt before but most of all Rosie's smell. He realized he smelt the same. It was a street smell, the smell of the homeless, the destitute.

He needed to be rid of that smell, at least for a while, for the girl and for himself. So, instead of watching the empty apartment he spent a week roaming the city seeking a round up. When he found one he made no attempt to run but climbed meekly into the police van. The van rumbled into the police station basement, the same basement where he had traded his old life for a bundle of string tied rags. The process never varied and obstruction was dealt with swiftly. The attendants used batons on anyone who tried to resist and the process continued anyway. Stripped, their clothes were piled in painted squares on the floor. The clothing would be searched, cleaned, disinfected and returned to the same square. Minus anything the police or attendants considered a homeless person should not have.

Naked, they were roughly shaved and had their hair cut short with the same cutters. They were lead through a series of showers, soapy hot water, a disinfectant, some nameless chemical spray and finally warm water. They were dried with hot air hoses. No one touched them throughout the entire process, not even the doctor. The doctor gave them all a brief medical check. He wandered down the lines of naked homeless, one by one, wearing plastic gloves. Sometimes he put cream on cuts, some times some one would be sent away for treatment but they were never away long.

At the end of the process you could dress again in your own clothes. You passed out through a scanner. He often wondered what the scanner's purpose was, maybe one round up a hand would stop him and say, it's all right, it's all over. You do not have to return to the zone again. This day he passed the scanner and moved back into the van, sitting in his 'clean' smelling clothes. He paid no attention to the others in the van and when they arrived back at the edge of the zone he left the van and began walking away. Something made him turn and look back he did no know what. A homeless was standing on the street where the van had left her. She looked like all the others, old clothes, hair cut short. She looked like they all did after round up but you could tell she was new, fresh meat. She began to cry and that was when he really looked at her, saw who she was.

He walked back to where she was standing, stood silent when the shock of his approach turned to joy when she recognized him.

"They caught me helping you, I don't understand they sentenced me today."

As she sobbed in his arms he heard James' voice. "I can't help you, Jonathan, and you can't afford to let me help you."

"Don't worry I'll be here to help you."

And he would, all the way and another two months more but after that she would be on her own.