Only the pain was real. His daddy standing over him wasn’t, dead years gone, dead of some fool accident that made this one look minor.
Yeah, minor. He laughed, more of the pain arriving along with the laugh. He wondered again why he didn’t bleed out. There was blood enough, clinging cold on what was left of his pants.
Other side of the tracks, right where he’d been standing, he could still see his shoe. He’d never really seen his shoe before from that angle, at least not with his foot still in it.
He lay back and tried not to move.