Milk Boy {l.s.}

two.

When Harry sat down on the steps in the morning, the boy was five minutes early. It was sort of surprising since they had a certain schedule for a long period of time and now he had decided to break it. But Harry didn't mind, since he didn't really have a care for him. But it was routine, and he'd like things to go as how they'd been.

He took out a cig and hadn't even lit it before the boy was gone behind the large pine tree. It was as if he was in a rush, and his mind seemed to wander to what the boy would have to be rushing for. A birthday party? A funeral? A date with his girlfriend or boyfriend?

Harry shrugged it off to keep his curiousity from roaming and enjoyed the silence on the steps, and the smell of his cigarette smoke. It was probably awful of him to smoke and breathe it in, since there was no filter, but his life was already a wreck and if he died of lung cancer then so be it.

Since the boy decided to break a rule, Harry decided to too and didn't light a second one, just waited with his hands in between his legs. He never had the urge for a second, but it was just something he did every day to pass the time.  But today, rules were being broken and he would break too.

The boy walked back up the hill, and he was carrying a jug of milk in hand. His feet were dragging against the cement, as if he'd been walking miles and couldn't make it any farther. It seemed as if hours had passed before he disappeared down the street. Harry thought that maybe he had wasted his energy rushing down the hill.

The more the days seemed to pass, the more sad and tired the boy looked. Harry wasn't feeling any sorrow for him, but he was wondering what was going on in that boy's life and mind that made him look so tragic every time he saw him.