I still like you
A small white cat runs in front of the car.
The car hits a bump.
Silence.
Veronica starts crying.
I think of things to tell her, like it isn’t her fault. That the cat committed suicide. That she should deal with it. That she doesn’t like cats anyway. But then I can’t remember if she likes cats.
The radio isn’t playing.
It is silent.
I don’t smoke.
I don’t want to bother her.
She continues to cry.
