It started as just another late-night stop. The kind where fluorescent lights hum overhead and no one makes eye contact unless they have to. I was standing near the checkout line when the door burst open, letting in a gust of cold air—and a man who looked like he had walked straight out of a war zone.
His clothes were worn, his posture uneven, and his face… his face looked like it carried years most people never survive. Beside him walked a large German Shepherd, its fur patchy in places, one ear slightly torn, a faded harness strapped tightly across its chest.
