He turned the radio off

He turned the radio off

somewhere past the third stoplight

and didn't ask if I minded

and I didn't mind.

The pine thing on the mirror

turned in the heat from the vents—

a slow metronome of nothing

in particular.

I watched the streetlights

drag themselves across the upholstery,

one by one,

like they were taking inventory.

All night I had been

the version of myself that laughs

at the right time,

nods, says that's so true,

says you should.

The fare came to fourteen-eighty.

I gave him a twenty

and said keep it

and meant something else entirely.

The door closed.

The cold came in anyway.