Halo

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The water beading in the glass of the car window behind your head gathers the light of the cars headed where we’ve come from. It plays around your head like the halo of the saints. I can’t see your eyes while you drive. The dark felt of your hat blocks the lights behind your head casting reflections on the glass. Your face passive, lips turned down, neutral.
I tense on the curves, you calmly direct us towards home.

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