It Rains Every Day

You emerge from the smoke-stink basement into light. The dread of the empty hours in front of you—it’s like the air here. It has weight. The sun, even through clouds, blinds your eyes. You undo the lock that pins your bicycle to the porch railing, and he does the same. 

“What next?” you ask, because he is the senior companion, but instead of answering yo…