The night I met him, I was running on fumes—coffee, cold air, and the kind of loneliness you stop noticing until something cracks it open. Snow fell in thick, quiet sheets. My three-legged dog, Mooney, wouldn’t stop staring at the old man by the van. Then he barked—sharp, urgent, like he recognized a ghost. When the stranger knelt, whispered a nickname only my dead friend ever used, the past I’d buried to survi… Continues…
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