It was a morning when my hands really needed their pockets. The first snaps of winter look pretty but they sting the bone.
It’s the traffic I always wonder about. Those microcosms on wheels. There’s a world behind every windshield. Sometimes, I’d just like to step in.
Would the backseat feel small? Cloth cushions and the cold clang of the belt. I wouldn’t need to talk, just sway side to side as the road winds away. Looking left and right. And out. To better see what’s within.