Staring at the baggage cars so hard my eyes crossed, I simply couldn’t process at that speed. Had I peeked through the trees, I might’ve seen you next to me. I approached the turn on Page, breath catching in my throat. Took the hard left and gave it a little gas up and over the bridge. Seconds later you were gone for good, ensconced in the chuggachugga of all that steel.

For a time, we moved at the same pace in the same direction. Which is to say: I think we did the best we could with what we had.

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Twitter: @jay_jolles

Jay Jolles is an emerging writer with work in Pidgeonholes, The Atticus Review and Avidly. He reluctantly lives in the other Williamsburg. Virginia, not New York.