rotting

The Goth boy stares at me, and I give him a what-are-you-looking-at stare right back. ____ dead,_ he says in a dull monotone. __ardon me?_ Adriana asks, but he keeps staring at me. __ou__e dead, too. Look at your veins. They__e blue._ He points at my forearms where dark veins run their lengths. __ou__e rotting like me._ I glance to Adriana, hands clasped and praying that she won__ leave me here. Adriana__ stopped crying now and squints at the boy before standing to pull closed the curtain that rings my cot. __razy,_ she says with an uncertain smile. __ou__e not rotting._ . . . ninety-nine, one hundred . __o,_ I reply. __ut I will if you leave me here.

Sometimes it is not right to wait for the right train. Take any train instead of rotting at the station! In other words, be realistic!