Friday, 2 a.m. I’m walking home through darkness, sobering fast, from the dive bar I am barely old enough to work at. I touch my share of the tips, coins in my pocket. Could they injure an attacker, if thrown? On a road of empty mansions there is too much space between lampposts. I make myself run streetlight to streetlight, fear tightening my throat. Suddenly, headlights on my back. A van pulls up. Adrenaline. Just in time, I recognize him. The bar. Last week. He’d been celebrating his release from prison. He drives me home. He delivers bread now.
Gina de Mendonca is a writer living in New York. She writes creative non-fiction, fiction and poetry. Her work has been published by Anti-Heroin Chic. substack.com/@ginademendonca Instagram: @shedidstories