you almost don’t look twice. just some guy by the curb, half obscured in shadow, swaying a little, like he’s either drunk or lost. you would’ve kept walking.

the jaundiced streetlight flickers above him. and that’s when you see his face. your stomach drops. so did the bag of groceries in your hand.

kyle.

no. no. that’s—no. that’s impossible. you watched them lower the casket. you hugged his mother. you lit a candle and told yourself he was gone forever.