He's supposed to pick me up outside but he isn't here. Before the buses left, that was the point. And I stand by the entrance sign, one by one, watching them go. Everybody's going home but me.
An hour passes. He drives up, shoots in, furious and an hour late. He says he's sorry but I don't care. You were supposed to be here an hour ago, I tell him. He feels terrible, I think.
We go to the grocery store. He buys me a twelve-pack of Dr. Pepper. This isn't so bad, I think. I'll drink Dr. Pepper now, from time to time, and think about how I don't really have anyplace to be.
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