It was only about three drags of a smoke to the bus stop. He sat with his tattered belongings pulled against his scrawny legs; folded like an accordion against his chest. The deep blue sky would swallow him someday soon. Even after so many years, he could not find the words and found it best to drift into the comfort of obscurity.
She left when it got real bad; blood oozed onto the needle tip. The best had not been given.
In the end, he knew he was powerless and had to let go; hands cracked from years of worry.