he sits on the bench and starts crying

Jesus, what was that!?

a thing crawled out from under the park bench he was sleeping on

it didn’t look like a stray dog when it ran away didn’t look like an animal at all the thing ran on two legs and it ran fast

he stood and checked his shoes and the shoes were on his feet then he checked his pockets for his most important possession in this world — his ID

it was there

tomorrow was supposed to be a big day He had a job interview for a position as night guard at a fishing lake

he would be given a modest salary and a small cabin to stay in and all he’d have to do would be sound the alarm if someone comes to fish illegally in the lake

the job of his dreams

He could dedicate the time spent in the cabin to watching the lake and dreaming and writing and maybe… maybe…. dare he think it? Maybe… even making it into the industry one day

but as he sits back he realizes the day will most probably not be tomorrow the sharp pain in his side says so and his hand reaches to it and returns before the dim distant lights of the park alley holding a rusty syringe needle, it’s tip bloody

the syringe is under the bench

he sits on the bench and starts crying

why? Why? WHY?