you tipsy? She yelled and walked quickly over to the man and his broken bike. Zach struggled to get up but fell down, his hands scratched and blood running down his wrist. He

not giving you a ride." I'm wondering whether you even have a place to go. He chuckled quietly. Sound of bitterness. I wouldn't be running into people I don't know for fun if I had somewhere to go. Fatima looked at him. His body was thin and wiry, even though it was covered in filth and wet cotton. Not just hungry. The bruises on his knuckles weren't new. The scrape on his temple was starting to heal. His shoes were worn out in different places, and the laces didn't match. But his eyes revealed a different story: they were green, obstinate, and angry as hell. She thought for a second. Do you get hit a lot? She asked in a quiet voice. He saw her for the first time. Not over her. Not through her. At her. Only by life. Are you from around here? No. He coughed. In the past. His fingers moved, and one hand pulled through his wet hair. She saw the small scar on the side of his neck. Not by chance. Not from when you were a kid. She said under her breath, "You don't belong in the street." Zach smiled, but it wasn't real. That's funny. The street was the one place that ever had room for me. Then maybe it's time for someone else to do it. He squinted. What do you want from me? I didn't say I wanted anything. Yes, you did. When you didn't call the police. Fatima opened her mouth, but suddenly she stopped. Rain stuck to her lashes. She blinked it away. The guard across the street was still observing. Zach took a step back. Thank you for the lesson, counselor. She got rigid. How did you do it? He pointed to her license plate. I'm not blind; I'm impoverished. Fatima didn't say anything as he walked away. She didn't stop him. But she also didn't look away. Zach staggered to the curb, dragging the broken bike behind him like it was dead weight. His shirt was stuck to his back. With each stride, the hole in hi