He set the revolver on the table next to the empty bottle and the last of his cash. He rubbed his eyes. Grit ground painfully.
He stood and grabbed the money off the table. One last trip to the liquor store. No hurry.
Outside the skies poured rain. He darted to the dry bus stop.
Wiping soaked hair from his eyes, he became aware he wasn’t alone.
“Hi,” she said.
He couldn’t respond. She’d stolen his breath.
She kept talking.
He listened. Weight washed away. “Um, coffee? … Sure.”
She took his hand and towed him along, two lives changing course.
Photo is by Sam Javanrouh.