I smell urine when I enter the stairwell. At the first landing, I step over the carpet stain, trying not to get any on my shoes. At the second landing, I see him and know instantly that his pockets contain everything he owns. There's a syringe in his right hand, left sleeve pushed up to the elbow. I let him finish, then ask him to leave. He goes quietly into the soft rain. That night, I dream that I am lost in a country of unknown language.

© 2007 Jeff Alan. Originally appeared in Flashshot in December, 2007.