HE THE FIRST person I see when I step out the bathroom. “You got any gum? I need some real bad.”

“No, but we can go buy some.” It’s the old dude from the bus. “I’ll buy you anything you want.”

I could use a pack of cigarettes. “Anything?” Just that quick I change my mind. “Naw.” I stick my hand out. “I just want a piece of gum or a mint. You got any of those?”

He licking his lips like they taste sweet or something. Says he might have a few mints after all. Like magic, he pull one out his shirt pocket. It’s red, cinnamon, the kind I like. His hand is all sweaty and warm when I take it. “Thanks.”

I can call him Wilbert, he says. When he lean in close to whisper in my ear, I laugh. His breath smell like beef jerky. He covers his top lip with his hand after I say that. “Let’s go for a little walk.”

Miguel’s mother waves at me from across the room. He turn his back to her. “What ya say?” He pull out his wallet. It’s an old man’s wallet—fat, brown; split in places. “Twenty dollars okay?”

I laugh out loud and say I’m worth way more than that.

Mrs. Rodriguez stands up. “Charlese.”

“Okay, thirty.” He looking outside at the lot where trucks park. “In ten minutes, we can be back on the bus.”

I need to sit down, I say. He tell me there are tables with umbrellas outdoors. That if I come with him, everything will be okay. Staring at his old man feet, I say, “I don’t like your shoes.”

“What?” He staring at ’em too.

“Look. The heels are run over.” I burp.

JuJu said you can tell a man by his shoes. The cheap ones don’t bother to keep ’em polished or maintained. They say they gonna tip, but they don’t. They claim they want extra sides with that meal but try to get ’em for less than you charging.

My eyes hurt when I look up at him. “Go away.”

Miguel’s mother got her hands on her hips like my mother used to do when I was taking too long to get in the house after the streetlights came on.

“She wants me.”

“But—”

“I changed my mind! I can change my mind, you know!” I’m loud. JuJu say you gotta be if you trying to save yourself or stop what got started even if you started it and changed your mind midstream.

He looking around. Clearing his throat. “Lower your voice.” His wallet slides back in his pants pocket but don’t go in as easy as it came out. “Maybe later.”

On my way out the building, I see him walk up to that purple-haired girl from our bus.