Hazards

The engine just stopped.

Not dramatically—no grinding, no

last-gasp shudder. It stopped

the way someone goes quiet mid-sentence

and doesn't finish.

I coasted to the shoulder of the off-ramp,

sat there with the hazards going,

phone at eleven percent.

The wall was concrete, close.

Every two seconds it went orange,

then it didn't.

Orange. Not.

I watched it for a while.

I'm not going to say it was like breathing

because everything's like breathing

when you're stuck somewhere at night

with nothing to do.

But it was like breathing.

The tow truck came at 10:40.

The driver didn't ask questions.

I was grateful for that, specifically.