The Soul Sucker
Rodney slumped on a cold, graffiti-tagged bench at the bus stop—head in hands, backpack at his feet, the weight of a thousand quiet regrets pressing down on his shoulders. His eyes were dull, like a man who’d seen too much too young, and not enough to make sense of any of it. Beside him sat an old man—pushing 90 if a day. White beard like a wandering prophet. Black overcoat. Polished shoes, but a scuffed cane. He didn’t look homeless. He didn’t look rich either. Just there—like he was waiting for something more than a bus. “Rough day, son?” … Continue readingThe Soul Sucker