573 solo sedan miles, the promised rendez-vous before I move to New York. Without him.
Peril pervades -- broken car, lost driver's license.
Then ... the cliff-edged snake, mountain parkway engulfed in heavy fog. I slow, gulp Tab, fantasize my fate:
Dead at 21, one trail clue -- 4:42 p.m., Ed's Market, soda.But I live.
Shaken, I rebuff his first hungry kiss, half Granny-up -- settle, sip beer, cross-stitch.
Yes. Gnomes. No symbolism.
The lesson? My needs sometimes trump his wants, our love.
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