"Do you like Sunshine Bear?" Becca scowls down at her white shirt emblazoned with a smiling bear—at the long, bony finger inches away from her skinny chest. "It's Funshine Bear," she says. She wishes it were Grumpy Bear. Then maybe this man would take the hint and go away. Instead, he grins at Mom, brushes his bangs from over his eyes, then turns his gaze back on Becca. His stale breath washes over her as he leans in closer. A cigarette glows between his fingers and there is a beer stain on his Grateful Dead t-shirt. "I'm sorry. Do you like Funshine Bear?" Becca glances at her mother, who stan