Sam woke to the smell of soy sauce and hot broth. He opened his eyes and turned his head. The source of the odor stood on the rickety table by the window. Dodger must have been down to the noodle shop on the corner, because two foam containers sat steaming, while a third empty one rolled back and forth in the fitful breeze from the open window. Sam was hallway through what remained of the soba when Dodger returned from a trip to the only functioning john in the semi-abandoned tenement where they had set up shop.