the cruelest wish, existing just for me, night car wind
2. She’s sitting on the curb of the main thoroughfare in the darkness, where any car drifting too much to the right could chop her legs off. I say “she” but that’s only my best guess; this human figure is tall and stout with cropped hair, dark shorts, and pudgy legs with double folds at the knee. Under the bus stop sign with its route map, she’s stretching up to look down the road to see if the bus is coming, and checking the cell phone which she holds closed in her hand, as if insisting on two simultaneous arrivals of providence. It’s hard for me to bear in mind that she wasn’t put there solely for my appreciation.
3. Sailing home with the breeze in my hair, my left hand sliding along the top ledge of the open window. There’s no other traffic, and I’m humming a song though the radio isn’t on; I’m smiling at the trees in the park as I drive past, my glance lingering to notice the friendly details of hills, volleyball court, construction site. Steering the curves with small practiced movements of one hand, which has maneuvered through this stretch of road hundreds of times, I think, This is what it feels like seconds before a fatal accident.