It's like sticking your bare feet out of the car window and porch-sitting as the last bit of sun goes down over the hill. It's like sleeping on a good friend's lumpy couch and sipping coconut cocoa in February.
It's like saying goodbye in a parking lot or a stairwell or between the dusty volumes in a library. It's like not saying it at all and wishing you had. It's like saying it wholly and wishing you hadn't.
It's kind of like traveling across Europe. No, it's more like traveling across small-town America, across every cow-country, past every leather-skinned man.
It's like this:
Sitting across the way from someone and realizing.
