The cars across from me. Everyone always buys the same cars.
I don’t know what the driver is saying. But they expect you to, always.
It was like a bus ride I took with her once. I was tired, from sitting too long in the theater. But she’s loud:
“Have some fucking respect. This is past my stop.” And I was honestly just paying attention to the buildings I always passed by.
I always do that on rides home. I mark everything. All drivers take the same paths on their GPS. So I know this stoplight is really the fourth stoplight, and the street I’m on is where he takes the second to last turn. I even start to remember other times I’ve done this very same thing, and acknowledge myself as if I were taking an inventory. I reward myself, like the untrained dog who’d need it.
Someone else is waiting by the door. I’m brushing dust off my jacket getting over to her, but really looking at my hand, which hasn’t stopped shaking in the past minute. I think I’m excited.
