From the passenger seat, I watched
an unlit cigarette dangle from your lips.
You said, January makes me feel new.
But it only made me feel cold.
You struck a match and let your cigarette kiss
its flame, and I remembered thinking
I was too young to be parked outside
that hotel steaming with city rot, the rat-a-tat
of a grumbling furnace. My father thought
I was at school.
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