a quick ride

he doesn't smile; he can't. but if he could, he would have. the best i could muster from him is the occasional smirk. it didn't leave his face, even while the subaru slipped out of gear, or while he hugged corners i wouldn't think of accelerating on.

it didn't matter. he spoke quick, without hesitation, and i whipped my head from side to side. it was tough to keep up with him. former employers. businesses that friends had owned. bars he hustled at.

it didn't matter. i occasionally shook my head and was consistently left speechless as the sun set. we didn't get out of the car when he spoke of the narrow streets he rode his bike down, and rocks he and his fiance would sit on and be quiet together.

several times, he admitted he believed in ghosts.

he lifted one finger off the steering wheel to point at the police station where he was born. he tells me this is the place where he'll first take his daughter when she's old enough to understand its significance.









he told me, "one day, i'll tell my daughter everything."

i told him, "maybe we could give you something else to tell her."