A bench in the park is all he can afford right now. Not the diner. Not those chairs and tables and small dishes with tomato ketchup to dip in the fries.
And definitely not a motel room with only one bed now and no more awkwardness toward 'King or two queens?' 'King-sized bed?'
The classic black '67 Impala is an absolute no no either. That boisterous sound called music might still be there but there won't be any drumming hands upon the steering wheel. No out-of-tune voice singing along.
He flips open the cell phone and veil of tears clouds his eyes even before he can see what's on the monitor.
The smile is there. The eyes still shine through. And the scowl when he realized his pictures were taken.
The sky is blue. The grass is green.
And blood is still its usual deep red.
AN: I'm sorry. :'''(