Buster sat and stared at the empty seat, wanting to turn the clock back. Since the death of Louise, he had been wandering the streets. Living day to day, eating any scraps of food available. All his dignity had gone.

He could not get the sight of Louise out of his mind. She had lain so still, wedged between the cars. Winter came that day. When the police arrived Buster had moved out of sight. He had seen the ambulance arrive and Louise carefully lifted inside. Then the few individuals who had seen the incident left. So Buster left.

Footnote: I wrote part one of Busters adventures, three days back, for use at some future point on the Sunday Photo Fiction site…