Sandro sat on his usual bench in the park, across from the duck pond, and watched a man tap his way along the path with a white cane. He was pulling a large wagon, the kind landscapers used to move plants around. It was empty.
He felt no pain. Not yet. He could see the pain there, of course…he knew what it was, and knew that he could take it out, pick it up, allow himself to feel it…
There was a protocol for cases like this. She didn’t get the sense he wanted out completely—not that she could’ve granted such a wish. He just wanted a fair shot, and that she could do…for a price…