Meeting
Catching Cars
I find it tricky to start something this time, disheartened by the futility of our last meeting. However, it seems that she has taken a liking to taking turns in beginning to speak.
“What if we could meet for more than one hour, for more than one day each year?”
Our backdrop seems to be colder than usual, our scene frosty and unreceptive. She seems more familiar than ever, though; perhaps this bitterness is uncalled for. Still, I cannot resist taking a jab at her ease.
“Are you sure you’d want that?”
We sit still for the most part of our fifth year of sitting in strange cars, watching the owner as she flirts incessantly, dangerously with the boy sitting next to her.
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