“So you chose the shelter?” Sparkle asked, pulling into a spot not far from where we were headed. “Judging from your friend up there, I’d say you made the right decision.” Peter nodded that he thought so too and hopped out of the car. Sparkle and I quickly followed, and we were, thankfully, finally off to lunch.
“Are you glad you’re in the shelter now, if you don’t mind me asking?” I asked, before we reached the restaurant.
“Yup. Well, sort of. I mean, I miss my friends and I sort of miss the drugs sometimes, but I’d rather have the shower, the bed, and the food. I don’t so much like being told what to do and where to go, though.” Now he was sounding like a teenager. A f****d-up one, but still.
“And the State,” asked Sparkle as he held the door open for the two of us, “they told you to
