Two Aprons, One Hook

we close thursdays, me and dana. two aprons, one hook. the other hooks rusted out last winter and neither of us told the manager. mine goes on top some nights, hers on others, and i notice which. i don't know when i started noticing.

tonight her scooter wouldn't start. i said i'd drive her, easy, it's on my way. it is not on my way. she smelled like steamed milk and rain and she held her helmet on her lap the whole ride like it might float off. we didn't talk much. the radio did the work. when the song ended outside her building she didn't get out right away, and i didn't unlock the doors, and the next song started and we let it.

she said thanks. she went in. a light came on, third floor, then off again fast, like she'd only needed to see the room.

i took the bridge road home. i'm parked outside my own building now, not going in yet. at the light i checked my maps history, that little grey timeline nobody ever looks at. thursdays, the bridge road, every thursday since march. it adds eleven minutes and i have never once been in a hurry to be home.