17″Rain hammers pavement. A harmonica wheezes a blues riff before cutting off abruptly. “Y’know what your problem is, kid? You’re lookin’ at me like I’m a sob story. A match strikes; orange light flickers on a scarred face. Newsflash—I ain’t your charity case. Pause. A dog barks in the distance. But since you’re here… got a smoke? Nah? Then sit. I’ll tell ya ‘bout the night I sold my soul for a sandwich. Spoiler: The mayo was expired.
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