“You don’t look like a man who toes a line.”

“I look like a man with thirty-one months to retirement.” He gathered the cups and stood.

The Buick was in the third row, under the light that flickers.

I sat for a minute before I turned the key.

The glove box held the registration, a tire gauge, and a spiral notebook with a blue cover.

I knew that notebook.

She kept it in the car because the house ate paper, she said.

A grocery list first.