The snow was so falling so thick, so fast, it was more like fog that hurt.
Holiday eve, only three bus lines running.
One north, one west, one east.
South was a different country.
The river was iced over and Frank seriously considered walking south, see how far he would get before the border patrol scooped him up.
Started daydreaming that maybe if the Coast Guard grabbed him, they would treat him to a decent meal.
Then again, the ice could break and he could-
“Hey, hey. Want some?”
The one other guy at the transit center, a bench away, holding a pint of whiskey.
He had a wet mitten on, Frank couldn’t read the label, but it was whiskey.
“No thanks,” Frank said, and without hesitation explained, “I just got out of rehab.”
The dude scowled.
“They just drop you off at the bus station like “Good Luck?”
Frank laughed. Didn’t know he had a laugh in the tank. It just showed up and came out.
“No, I’ve been out for four days. I…I…doesn’t matter. Anyway, more whiskey for you. Cheers.”
The guy held up the pint bottle to acknowledge the cheers and took a deep swig.
He pulled a sweatshirt sleeve out from under a dirty canvas jacket on top of a down vest and wiped the rim of the bottle, as though Frank might change his mind.
The guy smiled. “In case you change your mind.”
Frank shook his head and laughter snuck out again.
“No, I think I’m done this time. I got the three D’s.”
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