He stumbled on, resting briefly on doorsteps, sneaking into stores for a little warmth, and, finally, when his strength was at an end, when he was ready to lie down and die, instinct told him to return to his old building. He lay down outside his former apartment door and dozed off. He woke up in the morning, when the dogs started barking inside the apartment and the delicious smell of fresh coffee filled the stairwell. Someone was playing beautifully on the grand piano. Ungluing his eyelids, the painter saw next to him a jar of hot coffee and a brown bag full of fried potatoes, a hot dog, a plastic fork, and a huge slice of bread.
