Milk Boy {l.s.}

three.

The next morning Harry was sitting down on the steps and the boy was on time. He was walking slow and had a slight limp to his walk. If you were just taking a glance at him you might have thought he was in a street fight earlier, but something else was going on inside that boy's body.

Harry blew a puff of smoke and the boy looked his way. He was a little surprised at first, his eyes wide, and the stick in between pointer and middle was slipping. The boy had a sad look in his eyes, and a story was held in them. Harry knew that they once were a bright ocean blue, but now, now it was a dull blue, almost grey.

The boy looked away from Harry after a few moments and continued his way down the hill, until his body disappeared behind the same pine tree. He was surprised he even looked his way, he always thought he was an unseen bystander watch things unfold. 

There was something in his chest that was hard to explain after looking deep into those boy's eyes. They held so much grief, and he had never seen anything like that before. The boy had probably been through a lot.

Harry ended up smoking about four cigs before the boy dragged his way up the hill, but this time he was carrying a bottle of beer. No milk. Harry held in a sigh by biting his lip.

He was about to ask the boy what the matter was, but something told him not to, his voice stuck in his throat, causing him to cough. The boy didn't look over, or even acknowledge that he had heard it. The boy disappeared down the road, and Harry knew that he'd soon be drinking his worries away and that the boy would no longer be buying milk at 7am every day.