We’re aside a half-fixed up blue Chevy. I tilt my entire upper body as I turn the wheel into the car. It feels languid and satisfying as when you cut a lemon and feel the knife edge poised to break the thick, pitted skin. Before the bitter citrus spume. The cars connect as a light nudge. The blue Chevy, though, steps on his breaks and overcorrects. I see him in the mirror fishtailing. I think he hits a light post.