“Our neighbors to the right were so close you couldn’t change your mind but they’d know. The ones on the left were closer.”
I nodded. Pops could get nostalgic.
“Up at dawn, off to work or school. Dinner at 6. Routine. That’s what I miss.”
I knew the word. It was for people who were comfortable, knew where the next meal was coming from. People who assumed they would be alive at the end of the day.
“This could’ve been home.”
“Come Pops,” I said, taking one last look at the burned-out city, “it’s dangerous here. Time to move on.”
Word count = 100