Debt collectors called every day.
My truck needed repairs.
My stomach hurt from cheap gas station food.
I smelled like rain, old coffee, and failure.
Then I met Evelyn.
She came into the grocery store every Tuesday and Friday morning. I knew because I worked there for three months stocking shelves before I got fired for being late too many times. She always bought the same things. Oat bread. Fresh peaches when they were in season. A small bouquet of flowers. Chicken thighs. Earl Grey tea. Sometimes a slice of lemon cake from the bakery case.
She smiled at everyone.
At first, I barely noticed her.
Then one afternoon, after my manager fired me in front of two cashiers and told me I was “exactly the kind of man who would never get anywhere,” I walked out into the parking lot and sat on the curb behind the store with my head in my hands.
Evelyn found me there.
She had a paper bag in one arm and her purse hanging from the other.
“Young man,” she said gently, “are you all right?”
I almost told her to leave me alone.
