By: Chloe Yoon

He sinks 
in his blue Beetle,
heater blasting.
Warm, dry, quiet. 
“Lucky me”, 
he thinks.
He tells himself the storm stays outside
because he earned the metal
that keeps it out.

His face warms
as he steals a glance at two lovers 
outside the glass.
He grimaces 
watching as they push and stumble,
drenched in their worn shoes, 
shivering in their thin coats,
laughing loudly,
Like children. 

“What pity,”
he thinks,
as he continues to sink
into his burning seat,
in his blue Beetle,
heater blasting.
Warm, dry, quiet.

But as he watches them walk away,
leading each other out of puddles,
leaning into each other
under their singular sunny umbrella,
the blazing heater stings his pale skin,
and he is left
with the tick-tock, tick tock 
of his watch
in his too warm, 
Too dry, 
and much too quiet car.