The car reposed and, calm and gleaming, a FOR SALES sign in its left front window. Then before we had thought it over at all, the car belonged to us and our pockets were empty.
We'll take you home! Where do you live?
Hop on in!
Stephan went off to to training camp, came home once during Christmas, then the next thing you know we got an overseas letter from Stephan. It was 1968, and he was stationed in Khe Stan. I wrote back to him many times.
Once I was in the same room and I heard his teeth click at something. I looked over and he'd bitten through his lip. Blood was going down his chin. I tell you right then I wanted to smash that tube to pieces.
I thought he'd freeze himself to death working on the vechicle. I mean he was out there all day and at night he rigged up a little lamp, ran a cord out the window, and had himself some light to see by while he worked.
The headlights reach in as they go down, searching, still lighted even after the water swirls over the back end. I wait. The wires short out. It is all finally dark. And then there's only the water, the sound of it going and running and going and running and running.