We were driving back from somewhere, sweltering, in our own separate moods, and I asked of the glove compartment, "I wonder whatever happened to -----?". I got no response and expected none. I was talking more to myself and was abashed that I spoke aloud at all. My remark wasn't based in nostalgia, but God forbid I get falsely accused of sentimentality.
So, we drove on. Not four minutes later, my copilot, in a tone of suspicious blandness, said: "Hey, lookee. It's -----."
I turned, looked, and started to crow something about my innate precognition or latent superpowers or blah, but stopped on seeing the person. S(He) was at a bus stop, looking at a cell phone, dressed for summer, oddly changed and unchanged in the way people get after the years, and rocking back and forth. You know. Like a Cray-zee.
And my snide comment fell short. Way short. And I may have gotten misty. But who's to say? And we drove on in a different sort of silence.
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