The envy of how easy life seemed for other people was an injury that Roy couldn’t really feel anymore. It was an old pain, part of the background hum of being him. But just like being able to put your hand on your knee with your eyes closed, no fumbling, he knew where to find that feeling. It was the YOU ARE HERE marker that flagged his place in the food chain.

No matter what it was, he was well aware he was about to get it wrong. In some small way, or in a big way, someone would be annoyed with Roy. Someone would be disgusted. Someone would be furious or done with him altogether. Or worse, someone would have something to say: a curse, a recap, a lecture, or a lengthy, earnest sermon of advice.

And he, being on the wrong side of whatever, would have to withstand it and agree and say he would do better next time. He’d have to nod a lot and try to keep from shrugging or looking sad. They hated that. It was blood in the water for some people. And Roy couldn’t get angry when it was only true. So he didn’t.

Roy couldn’t tell if other people worried about the same things he did. He didn’t know if anyone else always had an ear cocked for bad luck slinking up behind them, ready to climb their pant leg and ride them like a horse into the next mistake.

Waiting was a chance to rest.

Roy stretched against the seat and stole a glance away from the road to dig out the half-empty bag of barbecue pork rinds crushed against the center console by all of the God-knows-what that was crammed into every inch of space on the passenger side.

He settled back into his seat and checked the road again for John’s car, watching the street for every second of forewarning he could get. He only needed a little money to make it through to payday. Just twenty bucks. Thirty at most. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t asked for dozens of times. But it didn’t get easier. John hated it. So did Roy.

He wondered if he should offer the gun to John for a good price. It would be less like begging. But John holding a gun, even just as a picture in Roy’s mind, gave him the chills.

He dug around in the bag of pork rinds with the hope of discovering one with all its corners intact. There weren’t any good ones left, only airy shrapnel and crumbs. He ate the biggest pieces first, pressing his lips together to keep from crunching too loud.