Survival's beat was a new, unfamiliar melody in Elian's heart. The five-hundred-naira note was a treasure hidden, the bottle of water a luxury. He walked with a purpose that had nothing to do with a point and everything to do with a destination: the feeling of solid ground under his feet. The ghost weight of the crates was a pleasant memory in his muscles, a reminder of his resilience. For the first time in a year, his head didn't ring like a mad, screaming chorus of regret and despair. It was filled with data, with levels, with the soft hum of possibility.
He cut across the congested market street and took a quieter path that would lead him towards the bridge, to the empty spot under the overpass where he currently lived. The path ran past the reflective glass front of a new financial co
