Milk Boy {l.s.}

six.

Harry didn't bother to light a cigarette that morning when he went outside to watch the boy walk down the road. He wasn't in the mood to smoke, he was just too upset. But the pack was right beside him while he sat down.

He didn't even know the boy that walked down the road every morning that was clouded in a circle of depression, thick and heavy, and hard to breathe in. Unable to crawl out of so you're just left to sit and suffer until your mind eventually lets you shut down and let it all stop.

Two minutes had passed by and Harry started to pick at the faded blue paint that was covering the stairs. He wasn't nervous or anything, but the need to do something while he waited kicked in and that was there. It was weird how Harry was depending on watching the boy walk down the sidewalk every morning, and how silly it was to do have that happen. Things come to an end, and unfortunately, Harry wasn't really ready for the milk boy to end his walks down to the grocery store, even if it was just for alcohol.

After awhile, something inside Harry knew that the boy wouldn't be walking down the road that morning. Or any morning. He didn't want to think the worse when thinking about where the boy might have been at that moment, but he did.

Harry picked up the pack of cigarettes beside him and lit them all, one by one, until the whole pack was gone. He could have smoked those all while watching the milk boy walk, but that wouldn't be happening. So it wasn't like he needed them anyways.

He always wanted to think positive on things, but it was harder when your life connects with negative things. You might find the positive in the negative, but you'll always find the negative in the positive.

After they all smoked out, Harry got up and went back inside his house.