I hate shopping.
When I shop, I usually have one or two things in mind as I cross the threshold of the store. I also have a strategy for retrieving those things and getting out alive.

The throbbing in the soles of my feet heightened as the temperature dropped.

It’s probably the week’s worth of steps I’ve taken. Maybe it’s the jagged rock, which worked its way into the bottom of my foot through a hole in my right shoe.

It appeared on my third day of walking. The third day of sleeping under the stars or the occasional overpass.

The third day after I lost everything. I lost it all because of my pride.

My feet were killing me. I looked behind me and saw a series of bloody footprints.

Yup, it was the rock.