Hope pervades in all things. There is hope that things will work out the way we want, hope that things will be different. There is hope in the satiating of addiction and hope that the cravings will end.
Sometime overnight a black van parked on the side of the road outside of work.
With the hood up they stumble in and out of the side door. A vacuum of silence howling from within. They sit in the front seats under phone glow and frosted windows.
Before the morning’s light a man scrambles under and around the front bumper, back and forth, then back into the van. A battery charger lies on the ground under the van. Inside the cab of the van a lighter flickers.
In a few days time you’ll show up for work and the van is gone, in its place scattered needles and trash. Off to continue the search.
—If hope is an ever available commodity, why then is it so valued?