These days I - attempt to run away on the beltway always finding myself back home. The clouds break stratus-wise along the highway; hair whipping back sleeveless in long pants the evening air will shake me back to sense. Last night, I got caught in one of those early September rains; I swept the water off my shoulders. Inside I- met his eyes, he looked so young, back in June. Do I betray my age in this way? When he got in the car he narrated the mess at his feet I shook off that mild embarrassment of being seen by pulling a strapped heel from under his seat. On the way home the rain picked up again my nose a breath away from the fractal of tailgates. Tonight, I've circled every home I've left the skyline a painful pressure now that I'm in the driver's seat perhaps it's not the leaves I came here to see the quiet air, an echo when haunted - I feel less alone.