Then the exit for Lucy’s school, where the crossing guard stood in her orange vest with her sign up.

Then the light by the grocery store, where I turned in because I had to turn somewhere, and turned right back out again.

The radio gave me a mattress commercial and then one of ours, the one with the laughing family and the golden retriever, the one that tested at eighty-nine percent recall.

I turned it off.

At Eighteenth, a man in a plow truck leaned on his horn because I hadn’t moved on a green.

I lifted one hand off the wheel to him.