You step out onto the boulevard, hurrying to the median. As pass onto the neutral ground, you feel the soft crunch of a year-old iced tea can beneath your right foot.
You look to the right to scope oncoming traffic; there is none.
While you are waiting you play with the can below your foot. You rock your foot toe-to-heel, heel-to-toe, hearing the crack and crinkle of the brittle aluminum under your sole. You feel the vibrations of the moving metal in your foot, they travel up the back of your leg – to your half, your hamstring, and giving a little tingle to your right buttock. It’s not love, it’s not sex, but it feels good in a way that is simple and pure and innocent.
You had almost forgotten simple joy and now, reminded, you begin to cry.
You hear the steadily increasing drone of an approaching car and look up to see bright blue headlights heading your way, and fast. That would have been the one.
Instead of jumping in front of the car, you bend over to pick up the can, turn back the way you came, and head home. Maybe tomorrow you’ll find something else to love.