Member-only story
How many hurt souls are wandering our streets?
Brown haired Becky likes to stay in bed until noon. Short but cute Carey likes cooking and long walks. Holly? Could this be the same Holly who told me she found someone? I exhale.
The air rakes my throat like sandpaper, and my heart settles into an expanding void.
It is her; she was just being nice. I flip to the next page finding solace in the newsprint’s aroma. I roll the corner of the paper between my thumb and index finger and scan the next personals ad. My kneading of the paper quickens and it softens between my fingers. I turn another page, and then another.
These pages turn like blind corners.
Maybe one day I will crash into someone: She will replace my blessed Karen, she will walk and laugh with me, she will hold me. How long has Karen been gone now? If any more air leaves me, no one will know I’m here.
I tip my mug and power through a slug of cold coffee. Normally, I’m done ‘looking’ before I need a refill, but not today. My reflection catches me as I stand and dig in my pockets for some change. I lean towards the glass rubbing and twisting my two-week old beard. The salt and pepper strands remind me of newsprint, smells like it too. After thirty…
