Sam was sitting on one of the many rusty benches at the Bus Station. From his position he could see a man slowly start to walk to the route display that was hung beneath the droopy and dead hanging flower basket. The man had short blond hair that probably would have been long if it was combed down. From as far away that Sam was sitting he could tell that this man had that important and formal busyness man look. In his right hand he held a bouquet of a dozen roses that looked to be painted with fake red die.

A noise in the distance slowly began to get increasingly louder by the second. It didn’t take long for the train to zoom past the onlookers in a flash of gray and black. From the sudden gust of wind Sam watched as a lonely looking rose pedal began to drift in the air current of the train. Soon after it was disarrayed from its family the lone glimpse of rose disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel.

This occurrence made Sam go back to the time that his adopted father, Mark, had brought home to Sandy, Sam’s adopted mother, roses from the bright pink flower shop down the road called The Goose. Sandy was the type who never appreciated anything anyone did for her. The roses were soon drooping from the trash can that was far overdue for dumping. A small little pedal from the sad flower slowly began it’s decent to the floor.

Unfortunately the man on the television was right. Sam ran away.

On the Bus, tears were starting to form on Sam’s face. Getting heavier and heavier they eventually began to increase on the amount of gravity. The street lights began to blur, and the car horns of the city were beginning to be pushed farther to the back of Sam’s mind and consciousness.

It slowly came to a stop at an intersection. A guy, soaked, and about 16 years old got on with a backpack and a couple books in his hand. The driver of the bus reached up towards the controls to turn on the windshield wipers. Heavy rain pounded against the window that Sam was resting his head on. Sudden flashes followed by loud booms shook the world around him.

Finally becoming aware of his surroundings Sam realized the window right above him was still open, inviting in the rain to soak into Sam’s clothes. Instead of closing the window He moved to the seat across from himself.

“Is somthin’ wrong?” Said the boy who had gotten on earlier. Sam didn’t respond.

“You sure everything’s alright?”

Sam took the opportunity to get up and leave as the bus came to a stop in front of a worn down Coffee Shoppe, but not before he got a good look at the boy who had tried to talk to him, for he didn’t want to run into him again.

Sam made a mental note to himself: Long black hair, green like seaweed eyes, piano playing fingers, long face and chin, and pearly white teeth. That was one highly developed skill Sam had mustered, being able to remember the exact detail to everything, like how the bus driver’s wedding ring was missing although Sam knew he was definitely married.

The water was beginning to soak through his shoes and into Sam’s socks. The puddles on the sidewalk were getting larger and larger as the rain got more dense. Water droplets began to drip off of Sam’s long hair, mixing in with the tears. The doorknob to the Coffee Shoppe was cold at the warm touch of Sam. As the door flew open a gush of warm cinnamon flooded into his nose. The Goth woman at the counter had headphones in her ear so she didn’t hear the bell on the door as Sam walked in.

Looking around Sam noticed he was the only person there. All the tables had crumbs on them, and one table even had a ring of coffee where someone’s drink must have been resting. Part of the floor was sticking to the soles of Sam’s shoe, and a piece of gum was just noticeable underneath one of the tables.

He slowly slid into one of the booths. The Goth woman looked over at Sam and took off her headphones.

“Are you gonna order somthin’?” She said.

“Uhh maybe in a minute.” Sam replied with a touch of annoyance in his tone.

The clocks hand slowly made its way towards the midnight stance, and the Goth woman behind the counter walked over to the table Sam was sitting at. Sam knew that the woman knew who he was. Her face looked sad and her black makeup was smeared across her face.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t turn you in to the police as a runaway.”

“Well maybe because you’re a good person and you know it would be the wrong thing to do to a fifteen year old boy.” He said as he tried to keep his voice calm and convincing.

The woman slowly slid a small piece of paper across the table to Sam. It looked like an old sticky note that had lost its stick. Sam unfolded the note to see address in smudged letters. The address was 402 S. 52^nd AVE.