Suitcase
"You almost had me," he says, and Robby stops, touched by the sudden generosity.
"No," Robby says, "I lost. You lost. We all lost. Can't you see?"
Unexpectedly, Hawk does, surprising Robby again. He's fragile without the mohawk, but defiance burns in his eyes.
They aren't similar. Hawk's loaded, while all Robby's worldly possessions could fit into one bag. Hawk, though, would fill it with baggage of a different kind. It's there, in his step, his stance, the same as Robby used to be. But he's learnt to let it go, while Hawk trails it behind him, bump, bump, bump.