The young couple paused at the sunny street corner where three cars had reached a four-way stop. The car ahead of them moved first, followed by the car on the right turning left, crossing their path. The man watched the cars move, one by one, without turning his head, fearing that to look and acknowledge the driver would signal his yielding. Meanwhile, two more cars cued up at the intersection. He feared that the responsible caution he thought he was demonstrating for his date now seemed like slow-witted timidity. The sun pumped overhead and focused its energy on him, squeezing perspiration from his brow, his armpits, from his back. Was I supposed to have stepped off the curb and challenge the cars?
She stepped off the curb, offered back her hand and a wink, her eyes a squint in the UV light. A haughty little sigh slipped from his dry mouth—the last little gasp from his car-crushed lungs—then he took her hand, gratefully, and wished he would never have to let go.
