The day I was diagnosed with ALS, I met the boy who stole my wallet in the emergency room. He clutched my medical record and asked me, covered in blood, "Sister, will it hurt before you die?" Later, I rented half a tin house in a village in the city. He left half a mooncake for me, and I bandaged his wounds from the fight. He taught me to skip classes and climb over the wall, and I taught him to write a crooked "I'm sorry." We were like two stray dogs, picking up each other's broken bones in the ruins. Until he sold me to a trafficker. Until he called the police at the transaction site.
