Echoes of the Garage

I believe things will be.

Puff goes the smoke of this cig.

I don’t know why.

Maybe things will improve.

Tonight’s story begins as a conversation between a son and his mother. Then it shifts into something wider, something human.

The boy tells his mom: I need to succeed so they can see — they can.

He says to her: Dad gave us survival. But isn’t the point to want more? To pay off the house? To build? To have our own property, family, kids — a vision, not just a check-to-check life?

Later, he stops at Starbucks. The drinks come out to thirteen-fifty. He hands over fifteen-fifty and tells the girl at the window to keep the change. She looks surprised, asks if he’s sure. He nods.

Then she asks if he has plans for the weekend. He says not really, and asks her back. She says Santa Barbara, but her face drops — it isn’t for fun. She explains her boyfriend’s family member has cancer. She’s going to say goodbye.

She admits, “I don’t know why I opened up.”

He answers, “It’s cool. It’s all right.”

She asks his name. He asks hers.

They wish each other well.

It isn’t much. Just a window, a moment.

Later, he tells his mom: That girl’s human, same as my sister. Sometimes people just need someone to listen.

And he thinks back — when he was depressed, he would’ve given anything for someone to ask, How are you?

Nobody ever really knows the weight people carry.

Most walk around looking normal.

Sometimes… maybe not.

Puff — the ember lights, a small red eye.

🥷 You don’t have to believe. You can ignore it. But if you knew… would you believe it happens?