Pearson lives two bus stops from the VA. The first stop has a four-sided shelter. Stop two doesn’t even have a bench. Pearson leans against a wall to keep his feet.
A man strides towards him, his gaze fixed on Pearson. The man wears a polo shirt; Pearson wears a 1st Air Cav cap patch.
“You a Vet?” the man asks.
“Yasir, goin down to the VA.”
“You want a ride?”
The magnificence of the man’s car takes Pearson’s breath.
The man prattles on, white talk.
Pearson is clenched, praying his bladder don’t release on the man’s pretty car.