I sat at the edge of an echo. The thrum of a staticky bass flowed across the street as I watched the pale, amber liquid in my glass periodically drop. The floral print shirt I permanently borrowed from a former friend stuck to my back as the last lingering rays of the summer sun reminded me I wasn’t invincible without sunscreen.

In the morning I’d wake up to the sound of crows cawing. The two outside my window were fighting or fucking, and I couldn’t tell or care beyond my own annoyance. The avian alarm clock had fewer features and greater noise than my phone— but it was twice as effective. For one, the snooze button was an out of reach slingshot in the kitchen that my dad used to wage war on the garden squirrels. The culprits behind the missing bird feeder seed and now infamous members of dinner time discussion.

Within thirty minutes I’ll be sitting in the drivers seat of a Subaru Outback that’s traversed the country more times than I’ve said no to visiting Disneyland. The smell of old cloth, oil, and burning coolant combines into a melancholic, yet nostalgic blend. I’ll start my seven thousand song playlist and hit shuffle before I pull away from the garage.

In that split second before the car enters the road and I’m fully invested— I replay the barrage of entrances and exits. The time spent sitting inside that Subaru or another— and contemplating my life in intermittent silence as the engine would cool. It’s back at the edge of the echo— smaller, deeper, but no less vital.