Like the step with a rise the wrong size, I jolt in these days. Still.

He called and said, “get in the car”
I said, “don’t fuck with me”
He said, “get in the car”

So I did. Thirteen years ago in about four hours.

Drove for three hours.

Hurry up and waited for two hours.

Kissed him and smiled about the wait being over.

Never had another conversation or heard another word from him again.

Asked to use the shower before they turned the room.

Slept under the sofa table in the waiting room.

Every one of us did the best we could.

From Welcome to Nightvale’s Twitter account: death is only the end if you think the story is about you.