I take another step forward, hunched and barely clinging onto my instrument case. 

Sweat beads form on my forehead and rays burn through my skin. 

Under my feet, under the bridge, cars zip past by on the highway.

I’m almost home. 

But my backpack is pulling me down and my limbs are already going heavy. 

Cross the bridge first. 

In no time, I’m past the bridge and now next to a small church. 

Kingdom Hall, Jehovah’s Witness. 

But next to the church sign is a small boy sitting down. 

His head is down. His black backpack is plopped next to him. He hasn't seen me yet. 

He seemed… 

Should I help him? I’m about to be right next to him. 

At least ask him if he’s alright?

I flash back to my moments in Las Vegas where I would walk past streets and watch the homeless stare back at me.

Their eyes are darker than others. They’re hungrier. 

The dirt on their jackets and faces makes a pit form in my stomach. 

I wish I could help them all…But what if they took advantage?

Now I'm right next to him and I can feel his eyes boring into me. I hesitate. 

Then I turn my head, keep going, and don’t bat an eye. 

No second thoughts anymore.

And now I’m at the door of my home. I open it…

I turn around and I see the boy has picked himself up. He’s walking away now and his head is still down. 

I enter the door and close it behind me. 

I feel the pit opening up again in my stomach.