We sat there for several hours

The wind squeezed its way into the car

Through the slightly cracked open window

It made a whistling sound, like Thomas, the building site worker,

Used to make whenever high school girls in skirts passed by

Oblivious to his hungry, wolflike stare, surprising

Isn’t it, she said, suddenly breaking the silence, 

How little is there left to say, and I nodded in agreement

Watching the end credits roll down my car windshield

image @ unsplash