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She fingers the ribbed edges of the car radio knob and sighs. A band she loved is playing a song she does not know.

She looks at him briefly from the driver seat.

“I wonder if when I am 34, 35, am I 36?”

“I think you are 36,” he answers clearing his throat.

“I wonder if now that I am 36, will I ever be touched by a song like I was when I was 16.”

He wants to tell her what she wants to hear. He wants her to stop being broken by such simple things. He wants to lie.

“No, I don’t think so,” he stutters while clearing his throat again.

She snaps the radio off.

And, they drive in silence.