him, I almost

off-brand soda and a pack of stale granola bars I won't eat. The city smells like hot pavement and sour tr

. I feel him b

st

cheap coffee in his hands. He's not looking at me. Not yet. But something about the a

ive. Then I

like I haven't replayed our conversati

ffee in a quiet

name. It should. But it doesn't. It settles

I ask, halfway betwee

I'd stalk someone who buys brea

my granola b

ys close, not too close. Just enough that I

ever start wor

quarters l

alking swe

ment and a death th

. Just the edge. "Most thing

I say, though I won'

try again. Nothing. The clerk sighs loudly, already l

forward. "Add

that," I snap, too sha

simply, handing ov

b my bag, mumble a thanks that feels like blood in my mou

dn't ha

he interru

fills the spaces between our silences. I want to ask him where he's goin

ple's problems without

nswers. "J

tops m

tensity. Unfiltered. Like he sees everything every crack, every p

care me. Bu

e feel lik

isappearing?" I ask, be

esitate. "Al

nd

many people wou

either the most tragic or the mo

it's

se at the steps. He looks u

e," he says.

no

st this place a

n making it a h

n, wider this

should end this now before it gets too tan

ask, "Want

tudying. Assessing. Not in a predat

ys finally.

nk. "

really want company tonight. Y

e. And it makes me hate him

ight,

still in hand, hoodie blendin

he turns the corner and vanishes, like fog

d sit in the dark with my uneaten granola ba

k

wo

as r