The Boy in the Black Hoodie
He had a black hoodie, black cap, black backpack—one of a thousand silhouettes your eyes slide over in a city. He’d been standing near the doors, earbuds in, hood up, invisible on purpose. Now he slipped the buds out, scanned the car, and stepped forward.
A woman drew her purse closer. A man edged away. The boy’s hands were empty and open.
