Wayfarers

Knox

I look up long enough to get my bearings so I can go back to staring at my feet while I walk and try to think through my next moves.

I see a familiar-looking Sprinter van. There are many of them in this parking lot, and it’s not parked where Sylvie first parked, but this one I think I know.

If it’s Sylvie, I want the chance to see her one more time.

Even if I don’t talk to her. But what I really want is to tell her I’m sorry and thanks.