ALEX
Finn played the guitar mindlessly during our show. Quiet and withdrawn. Every note pouring out of each strum sending a sound wave of sadness.
After, we ride Scoopy Doo to the hospital. We pass by a skatepark. Finn grinds into a halt.
“Is it just me, or is it cold tonight?” He asks as he unbuckles the chin strap of his helmet.
“Cold? In Thailand?”
He forces a smile. A couple of teenagers skate around, the sound of synthetic rubber polymer grinding against the seasoned asphalt. I place a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to smile all the time, you know.”
I follow his gaze and see a boy who keeps falling off his skateboard. The corner of his mouth twitches each time the boy rises on his feet and tries again.
“We haven’t met yet at that time, but when I was a kid, I didn’t have
