Fifteen
The Other Seph
Two days had passed. Seph had not stopped for sleep or food. He was running out of gas. He found himself in Boyce—his bloodied hands shaking in fear. He parked in the downtown area and stumbled into a café. He wasn’t even hungry, but he ordered fries. His ears were still shot and the chatter around him was muted. He squirted a copious amount of ketchup onto his fries. The waitress glanced at him with a thinly veiled look of disgust. While she was distracted with another customer, Seph got up and left. He hopped onto his bike and sped away.
When he gathered himself, Seph sold his bike and found himself a single-room unit: a shoebox with a small twin bed. He scrolled for jobs on his phone with a bottle of gin at his side. The first application was for a translator j
