Ten and Two

Some things couldn't be fixed, so the best they could do, he thought at the time, was remove reminders that they were broken. As he rolled up the window, he made a point not to notice any street signs, to not check the mileage. He gripped the wheel, stared straight ahead, and turned the radio up as loud as it would go, focusing on a song that would be in his head for days, well after the point he'd wished desperately that he'd remembered the location where he'd rolled down that window in the first place.