You don’t see a lot of rusty cars around anymore. A young woman with thin hair and big sunglasses flicks a butt out the window of the one beside me at the lights. The boy in the backseat looks me in the eye. Dares me. He says something that makes her laugh. She looks over, smiles and pulls away, loose muffler rattling.
Up ahead, struggling with a shopping cart full of empty bottles in blue bags is a man about my age. I’ve seen him around. Grey beard, dirty red ball cap, stained winter parka on a warm, spring day. Cool sunglasses. The mirror kind. He’s talking earnestly to himself, shaking his head as though in disbelief. I wonder what his story is. A crow with a french fry hops out of the way.