He slept in a doorway none too soundly last night. His paranoia and body aches were screaming at him. I steared the broken bits of sentences in the direction of comics and heros. While crafting “MovqsgBlfIm,” he stopped my coloring and looked me in the eyes:
“Promise me there won’t be an end to your days.”
My response, “All I can do is try.” He nodded agreeingly, and continued adding Sharpied details to the paper.