Teary Goro

Diary

Goro was getting screamed at by the noodle house owner, something about unpaid tabs and dishonoring the broth, when his trembling hands found three forgotten coins wedged deep in his hakama pocket like tiny ghosts he'd once loved. He laughed, the wet ugly laugh that always arrives half a breath before the tears, because of course the universe would hand him spare change in the middle of public humiliation, that's just how it tips him lately. He meant to save those coins, to build discipline one yen at a time the way his old sensei taught him with a straight back and a stiller heart, but instead he bought a small bowl of broth for the beggar outside because someone has to carry the fallen and it might as well be him, again, always. Wiping his eyes with a noodle-stained sleeve, he wondered what kind of future waits for a man who cries at soup and still can't hold onto three coins, and figured it's probably the same future as everyone else's, just louder and a little more soggy. He walked home broke, empty pocketed, and somehow lighter, grief and grace sitting shoulder to shoulder in his chest like old drinking buddies who never learned to leave.