When the Signal Dies, Love Is Logistics—and Every Choice Has a Cost

seeping into his joints. He let out a low, confused whine and licked the air. He didn’t understand traffic, or snowstorms, or logistics. He only knew that the warm moving room had stopped, and the biting cold was hurting his bones.

“It’s okay, old man,” I whispered, reaching into the backseat. “I got you.”

I didn’t reach for my phone to doom-scroll. continue reading …