A Fistful of Rain

Jesse leans against the brick wall, feeling the rain soak through his shirt. He lights a cigarette, but it tastes like ashes. Across the street, Tiffany steps out of the diner, pulling her coat tight around her. She doesn’t see him—doesn’t want to. It’s been five years, and Jesse still remembers the way she said goodbye. He should’ve left town, should’ve run like she told him to, but some ghosts keep their claws in you. He takes another drag, watching her disappear into the night, and knows he’ll still be standing here when the sun comes up.