Dear old man with his wife in the car,

I drove behind while you straddled the immovable dashing of white lines. Pavement was your lane. I slowed my breath, matching the pace of your brake lights glow. When I did pass you, I spoke to myself clearly and profanely about how your chin was so close, so, so close, to touching the wheel. I worried for us both. And I don’t know where you are going, but I do know where we are all headed. I hope we get there safe. This world is for all of us, but I like to hope that your destination is just a bit closer than mine.