I saw a car that looked just like yours today in front of the coffee shop where we used to play Scrabble when we were both home from college: a baby-blue Honda, a two-door with headlights that tapered to a point on the edges of the hood. I froze up momentarily as I turned into the parking lot. I was debating shooting straight through, turning around, and driving back home. I haven’t been consciously avoiding you this winter, but when a man in a brown workman’s coat turned a key in the door of the car, I felt so relieved.
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