Last Stop by Brian Feller illustration by Sadie Hutchings
“Northbound’s late,” I say as I pocket my phone. Tony stands beside me. A small pool of water is forming at his feet, dripping from his drenched clothes. He’s wearing his favorite black bowling shirt with stripes going down each side in a bronze Celtic design. His beard is as long and wide as ever, resting against his broad chest. “Last chance to head in and grab a drink or take a piss.” But he doesn’t answer, just looks at me in that nonchalant way that says I don’t need to. I shrug. “Should have figured.” He’s been staying with me this past week, just showed up in the middle of the night. Every day, it’s been this silent treatment. I thought he might say something now since I was taking him back home. When the bus arrives, I wait for the driver to lower the platform before I climb in, comforted by the firm rubbery thump of my cane. For a moment, it appears to me that it must look strange, a man in his thirties with a walking stick. But I let the thought pass, and we take seats in the back. Tony plops down, soaked jeans onto hard plastic. 27
