i guess it’s time. a flock of scrawny geese forages in that depressed pocket of green, just before the grey of buildings in white plains shows above the stand of trees. the guy is extra surly. he keeps on driving while constantly adjusting his smoked glasses. on the radio, a country crooner sings “it’s a smile, it’s a kiss, it’s a sip of wine…it’s summertime.” i look out and plan on telling him we have yet to go to the beach together. instead, i tell him there usually is a highway patrol car hiding just before the bushy bend ahead. he grunts as he hears the siren from a state trooper’s cruiser then looks at me like it’s summer that should, instead, get a speeding ticket.