Every story starts with feet. Slapping against the cold street. Stretching out against soiled sheets. Toes twitching in too tight shoes. Walking away or running towards something. A demonstration of desire.
In the middle, they touch their stomachs. They’re hungry. They eat something. Or don’t, because they can’t. They don’t have any money or none of the restaurants nearby are open. Desire, unfulfilled.
These stories end with the main character in their own heads. They go over things other characters have said, or insinuated, or questions they have about themselves. Answers aren’t usually found, but that was never the point.