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

He looked at me with those milky, trusting eyes, and rested his heavy head on my console.

That’s when the knocking started.

I looked at my driver’s side window. A young guy, maybe twenty-two, was standing there. He was wearing a college hoodie and basketball shorts. No hat. No gloves. His lips were a terrifying shade of blue.

He pointed at his phone,continue reading …