Late afternoon, summer. Probably a Sunday - it's always a Sunday. The sun peeks through the dusty blinds and shadows dance on the bus floor.
William sees himself, on his knees, looking down like a child who's been punished. When he looks up, Mike is there. Mike is smiling and Mike's eyes are kind. He kneels down and cups William's cheek. His hand is warm.
"You keep crawling back to them. Who runs back to you, William?"
He blinks. The warmth on his cheek is gone. Mike has vanished.
William says, "No one." The shadows are still.