Nothing he’d said lined up cleanly. Who walks that far to get to work? Who answers questions like they’re pulling from a place they’re not fully present in? Eventually, I pulled back onto the road. I told myself to wait. If he was telling the truth—if any part of it was true—I’d see him again in daylight. I didn’t have to wait long.
The next morning, I parked across from the bus stop near Lincoln and watched commuters gather in loose, tired clusters. Coffee cups. Work bags. The quiet impatience of people counting minutes. Then I saw him. Same man. Same build. But this time he looked… put together. Clean uniform. Buttoned jacket. Hair combed.