"Excuse me?"

"Excuse me," a soft voice came from behind him. "Are you John Doe?"

John didn't move, didn't breath, for fear that this was another agent of suffering about to drop another bomb on his ruined life.

A gentle hand gripped his shoulder, "Can you hear me?" the voice sounded so concerned.

'Go away,' thought John. Not willing to hope that this long chain of misery was finally taking a break.

"Are you ok?" the woman asked again. "Here, let's get you out of this rain."

Another set of hands helped pick the drenched and beaten young man up and walked him down the sidewalk. They entered the only restaurant on his street. The one restaurant he could never afford. "Sabastian's" was written broadly across the wide and well-lit entrance. A doorman smiled at the ladies while completely ignoring the poorly dressed man they held between them. Once inside the Maître d greeted the two lovely ladies with a smile that evaporated when his eyes fell on John.

Ignoring the look on the greeter's face, the lady to John's left commanded, "Our usual table please, Stewart." The smile creased the gentleman's lips but never made it to his eyes.

"Right away, Madam," as he selected two menus and led the group into the dining room.

The delicious smell of countless dishes had John's nose twitching and mouthwatering. They barely sat down before he reached a timid hand across and took a bread stick from the decorative basket in the middle of the table. Half afraid of an angry yell or a slap on his hand, he bit into the bread stick and nearly swallowing the food without chewing.

John felt so ashamed and so completely useless as he finished the breadstick before the two ladies had handed off their coats to the Maître d and sat down. Locks of his dark hair dripped water in front of his face as he looked at the women who sat silently watching him.