The sun was setting over the small town of Milfield, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The gas station at the edge of town was quiet, as it usually was at this time of day. A few cars passed by, but most people were already home, settling in for the evening.
Inside the station, Mark—the tired but friendly clerk—leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone. The bell above the door chimed, and he looked up.
A small boy, no older than eight, stepped inside. His sneakers were scuffed, his jeans a little too big, and his shirt looked like it had seen better days. In his small hand, he clutched a few crumpled dollar bills, folded and refolded as if they were precious.
Mark had seen him before. Every night this week, in fact. Always around the same time. Always alone. The boy walked straight to the cooler at the back, his steps quick and quiet. He grabbed the same thing he always did: a cheap prepackaged sandwich and a small carton of…..Read Full Story Here.…………………
