The early days of Autumn crept into the small city of Yonkers. The wind blew the browning leaves off the Maple trees and onto Sarah Hartman's black suede boots. She closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath of the fresh Autumn air. She sat on a park bench alone. Sarah glanced at the trees and foliage all around her, mocking her. The feeling of isolation slowly began to fill her body. Her lip began to tremble. She didn't know if it was the weather or her emotions, but all of a sudden her lip began to tremble even more. Sarah's eyes watered as her hands frantically searched her purse for a piece of tissue. She began to dabble the wrinkled tissue under her eyelashes, being careful to not smudge her mascara. With her hand lazily placed to her side, Sarah looked at the empty space in front of her and let out an exasperated and hopeless sigh.
Sarah dried up her tears and shoved her raggedy tissue back in her flat brown leather purse. Her lip still slightly quivering, Sarah took in another breath. Shoving her hand into her jean pocket, Sarah pulled out all the money she had-- one dollar and twenty seven cents. Her eyes began to tear up again. She began to wonder how she could be so angry and so spiteful enough to storm out of her house with all of her belongings but still forget to take her twenty dollar bill that was rightfully hers from her fathers wallet. After all, he wouldn't notice. He was a alcoholic deadbeat that was always in a drunken stupor.
Sarah never knew why she put up with him for so long. Upon comparison, one could see her as one of the women who lived with their abusive husbands and never chose to leave them. She hated herself even more for that fact.
Her mother's words seemed to recycle in her head at that particular moment as she sat on the bench alone.

"Do not leave your family behind, no matter how burdensome they get."

Her mother's words would have had much more of an impact if she hadn't abandoned her own family and run off with the mail man. Sarah always thought her mother was a hypocrite.

She leaned forward from the bench. She saw a car coming and began to gather her belongings. The car drove closer, but she sat back down with feelings of disappointment and anxiety all at the same time. Twenty minutes passed until the rusted midnight black Mustang pulled up in front of her. The man driving the vehicle appeared to have traveled through a time machine from the early 70's. His brown leather jacket seemed to be two sizes too small for him and had creases in places where you didn't think creases could form. His polyester pants were overly flared for his own good and almost completely covered his dirty black boots.
He went by the name of Skiz Goodman. A good form-fitting name for the kind of man he was Sarah always thought. He stood lazily near the door of his car and looked at Sarah.

"You Sarah?" he asked

"Yeah," Sarah said lightly

"Hop in, Buster's waiting for you"

Sarah gathered her bags, briefly looked back at the small town behind her and entered the car.

The ride to the apartment was only twenty minutes away. Sarah wondered why it took Skiz so long to pick her up. The drive was silent with the occasional cough from Skiz. Sarah made an effort to start a conversation with him but all he did was stare aimlessly at the road ahead of him.

"So...how long have you known Buster?" Sarah asked nervously, her fingers fidgeting.

Skiz coughed.

"Well I met him when I was walking back from work one day. He said --"

"Lookie here girl, I don't mean to be rude or nothin' but I'm just here for business. I pick people up and drop 'em off. I don't do the chit chat"

Sarah became quiet.
Skiz pulled up into the gate of an apartment complex. Sarah rolled down her window as they passed a sign reading "Sunnyhills Apartment Complex" with a medium sized sun on top of the bright orange letters. Sarah was surprised--she never knew Buster could ever live in a place like this. A place that sounded like it was named after a retirement home.