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The man(formerly, the box) is seemingly unhindered by his injury but for an obvious limp, and upon finally stepping into the priest’s cramped apartment doesn’t do much but glance at his surroundings as the priest makes his way to a nearby closet.

“Do you do this a lot?” There’s silence, then, and while he waits for the priest to answer he lifts his arm idly and inhales.

He spends the next minute coughing loudly.

“Do what a lot?” says the priest, his voice oddly wavering.

“Pick people up, take them home.” The man sniffles one more time. “Duhandorhello!”

The priest smiles awkwardly, like a man expected to laugh at a bad joke, and presses a towel into the hands of the man whose blood is threatening to spill onto his welcome mat. “Closest homeless shelter is an hour and a half away by car.”