Joshua’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His chest felt tight. He looked down at himself — wrinkled shirt, pants creased and still damp, hair flattened to his head. He felt exposed. Small. The man added, softer this time, “We already gave the position to him. Sorry.”
Joshua turned without a word. His legs moved on their own. Outside, he sat on the curb, water soaking into his pants again. His hands rested uselessly in his lap. The bag was beside him, sagging. Lucky sat down quietly, watching. No wagging. Just waiting.