Short Story: Stories of Nonexistence

She passed a man who looked like he had sold his world. She stopped walking and glanced behind at the man, who sat on the bench in yesterday’s clothes and bottle covered with a brown bag. Shit, she thought, taking two more steps onward, but then turning around. She slowly made it to the man, who barely registered her walking there. There they were around the usual morning rush to work, ignored by those who heard nothing past their headphones. She clutched onto her grandpa’s old satchel when she ...