“I’ve got seven dollars and forty cents. Is that enough to beat up my cancer?”
Nobody moved.
His mother was across the lot by a blue Civic, hand over her mouth, tears running down her face. She didn’t call him back. Just stood there and let it happen.
I crouched down to eye level. “Tell me what cancer looks like to you, buddy.”
He pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his shirt. Opened it slow and held it up. A crayon drawing of a monster. Black scribble body. Long skinny arms. Red eyes. Jagged teeth stacked on top of each other like a trap.
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