Four months

Sitting. Quiet. The wind outside the subway tunnel whistles a spooky note that sounds like a ghost and makes the early morning commuters squint into the darkness as though something were there. He sits with all of his clothing on, yet it is not enough. Curled into his back is his dog. Perhaps not his dog, but it has been following him for almost a fortnight now. Since he shared the spoils of a dumpster with it.

Four months.

It seemed worth it when he left. They didn’t believe that he didn’t do it, even though he’d almost convinced himself. It was warm then, and sleeping rough wasn’t so bad. Now it was only autumn. It would get worse. 


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