The wind cut through the parking lot like a blade, sharp and relentless, carrying bits of trash across the asphalt under flickering streetlights. I had just locked my car and was pulling my coat tighter when I noticed him—an elderly man sitting on the curb near the edge of the lot, shoulders shaking, his hands covering his face.
At first, I thought he might be sick. Then I heard it. He was crying.
Not quietly, not the kind of restrained tears people try to hide—but full, broken sobs that echoed in the empty night. It made something in my chest tighten immediately.
