His temp job ended yesterday.
The white-bearded fat man rolled through the church doors. He grabbed his mop and began cleaning the narthex floor. It had snowed for days; parishioners tracked in white traces of road salt on their boots.
As he worked, his thoughts returned to Sara. She was only six-years old, but her sad smile hinted at a lifetime's worth of hardship.
She had asked if he could bring her mother a warm coat. She wanted nothing for herself.
He entered the chapel and knelt by the altar. Head bowed, he asked God for assistance.
Even mall Santas can't fulfill all Christmas wishes themselves.