“She was on the crew team; did I mention that?”

It appeared my silence gave him opportunity to moved back to the original reason we were sitting above half empty mismatched mugs at the wobbly two-top in the corner overlooking the busy street. My view down the road opened up to an onramp to a highway, and his, a dirty church, or meeting hall, we never found out which.

She is leaning over the scattered papers and cosmetics on her desk into her mirror, where she appears to be examining a nervous scar she plausibly gave herself. While she articulates the word, obviously concerned her sarcasm wasn’t evident, she looks into the reflection lightheartedly.

And I just can’t live without you, can’t you see it in my eyes…

I turn off all of the instruments that are obscuring my vision so that the only way to know we are on the right tack is the whistle of the wind across the bow.