A few days before we leave I’m driving through town and a man I don’t know waves at me frantically from the side of the road.
.
I come to a fairly sudden stop and he jogs up to the car.
.
He leans in through the open passenger window and tells me in an excited hurry that one of my headlights is out.
.
Thank you, I tell him.
.
I know.
.
.
.
The school holidays arrive and we set off in the 3am dark heading west.
In the back our children return to sleep as I tactically hoped they would.
The music turned low to keep them that way.
.
I scroll through Spotify looking for songs made of four chords and heart-ache.
And passing along the M2 through the sulphurous seeming pools of light
my thoughts turn from endless to-do list
towards you.
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