FICTION

Midnight to Morning

They always come in threes

Photo by Italo Melo from Pexels

When you don’t live by yourself, your car becomes your home — of sorts.

There’s something about a space knowing you, the seat inclining at a proper angle, water I can lift without having to strain my arms, the pine-scented air wafting into my nostrils, its temperature set a touch cooler.