When I looked in the mirror again, the billionaire was gone.
Staring back at me was someone people never stopped to save.
I leaned hard on the old cane and walked out the door.
The automatic doors slid open. The lights hit me. Forty years of my own life, lined up on shelves.
I tried a man near the bakery. He didn’t even let me speak.
The first woman I approached was holding a basket of oranges. I cleared my throat and asked if she might spare a dollar for something to eat.
She pinched her nose so hard her knuckles went white.
“God, you smell like rotten meat.”
She walked away without looking back.
I tried a man near the bakery. He didn’t even let me speak.
He raised the phone and pointed the camera at me.
“People like that shouldn’t be allowed in here,” he muttered to the woman beside him. “What’s security doing?”
