He kissed her somber lips and said goodbye, and then he shut the door in her beautiful face against whatever sanity still nested in his mind.

They waited and watched, while the clocks seemed to resist time.

They rolled up the path, tree branches raking the windshield like angry wardens.

Within her simple, terrified mind, swift calculations of distance and speed were at work, and her face advertised the disappointing results.

They loved deeply in those early years, as it is common for young lovers to do.

The boy raised the can to his nose and smelled, his lips wrinkling back as if he'd caught the business end of a skunk.

She sat at the little table, her expression like that of a child digesting failed plans.

It's bad luck not to believe in luck.

The door closed and darkness claimed the room.

As she gobbled up the miles, big ravines appeared before her, their starving mouths open for the swallow.