And one rainy Tuesday I looked up from the counter and saw him on the sidewalk outside my shop, thinner, hunched in a frayed jacket, the old arrogance washed clean off him.

I walked to the door and spoke through the glass.

“I just want to buy some bread,” he said.

“You’re under a court order not to come within five hundred feet of me,” I said.

“I published the apology,” he said.

“Can’t we talk?” “An apology is where a debt starts getting paid,” I said.