she looked to see a slightly weathered face, sprinkled with stubble, sitting to her left. & then noticed he, too, decided upon awakening this morning that it would be a checkered flannel that would cover his back for the day. The only difference was that his was black and red, while hers was gray and red—boyfriend cut.
“My mind is filled with silvery stars. Honey kisses, clouds of fluff…”
& she began to wonder what tunes, if any, were bouncing off those six windows & plastic frame, to be absorbed by the tattered upholstery he sat on, the ball cap set high atop his crown & layers stacked under those black & red checkers. maybe beyond that dented panel he, too, was wearing red chuck tailors. although she thought not likely. & it was then that she wondered whether the two, sitting contained in their individual metal confines—with clearly more than two doors & air separating them—had anything in common other than what they each pulled from a hanger or off the floor this morning. she was sure he carried more inside that car than just a heavy head, but the details she would never know. just as he would never know about the sleeping bag in her back seat, the owl necklace hung around her neck or the story behind the circles that hung beneath her eyes. but they had more than one thing in common on that day, at that very moment, which is more than some have…ever. & as she turned right & he rolled forward, she realized she did learn one thing about him: he was a man that dressed for comfort & who confirmed that checkered flannel will never go out of style.