He played with his straw. “What’s the right way to run away?”
Prepared for print by Zivia Reischer
It was just a short walk to the bus station, but I was still freezing when I walked up to the front doors. I pulled the worn baseball cap lower over my face and turned the collar of my jacket up. Instinctively, I hiked my backpack higher up my shoulder even though it barely had any weight in it at all.
I walked in and assessed the ticket lines. The one I needed was the longest — about six people. I took my place in line. The guy in front of me was a kid, not a day older than 15, strapped into a backpack. He kept glancing over his shoulder to the entrance.
I knew that look.
“Where you heading?” I asked him.
He glanced at me, caught off guard. “Sorry?” he stammered.
“Where are you traveling to?” I asked again.
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