Chapter 471

In the depths of winter, small sparrows lined up on the bare branches, preening their feathers; one spread its wings and flew to the ground, hopping through the snowdrifts in search of possible food.

A hand scattered a handful of bread crumbs; many sparrows gathered around, and the baker, wearing a cotton cap and apron, straightened up and brushed off the remaining crumbs from his hands.

A sharp "squeak" came—the sound of a bicycle brake—as the bundled-up paperboy removed his gloves and tapped the bell with his fingers.

The baker, in thick cotton boots, trudged through the snow, startling the sparrows into a flurry of flight; he strode across the sidewalk to the street, taking the newspaper from the paperboy's hand.

"It's you again, you clever little rascal! You know the gentlemen over here are easiest to talk to—you always snag the job here."

The paperboy was a freckled boy, like most children in Gotham: lively, wild, and brimming with rebellion.

These children darted through Gotham's alleys and streets, undaunted by wind, frost, rain, or snow, forever brimming with energy—like sparrows crossing the streets in winter to forage, the most vibrant sight in Gotham, this city of sin.

The baker shoved a small piece of burnt bread into the paperboy's hand and asked, "Any gossip lately?"

The paperboy bit into the bread, burned his mouth, and sucked in air sharply; between gasps, he said, "Things are going pretty well."

"I heard the charity gala in Metropolis went off successfully—the rich old fools donated a lot to fix the snow-related traffic problems."

"I heard our mayor used the donations to buy several big snowplows—Central Roundabout and the East Docks are already cleared; otherwise, traffic wouldn't have resumed today."

The paperboy bit into the scalding black bread again; his nose was bright red. He wiped it with his hand, sucked in two more cold breaths, and said:

"Gotham University resumes classes today. Just look at those pampered professors driving to work—you know good days are coming."

"Thank heaven!" The baker sneezed, rubbing his nose, his voice muffled. "With traffic paralyzed these past days, I couldn't sell a single loaf. If not for you kids delivering to my regulars, I'd have shut down already."

"Oh, right!" The baker suddenly remembered something. He raised a finger, shook it, then slapped his forehead, turned, and hurried back into the shop, startling more sparrows into flight.

After a moment, he emerged holding a brown paper bag and said, "Professor Rodriguez's butler called last night to order fresh bread this morning. Deliver it for me—I'll treat you to black rice cakes and sausages at noon…"

After a while, he walked out holding a brown paper bag and said, "Professor Rodriguez's butler called last night to order the freshly baked bread this morning—take it over for me. I'll treat you to black rice cakes and sausages at lunch today…"