She wondered where her watch was. Then she remembered – probably there in the Mitchell Interchange where it fell off last night. She didn’t even have a story to go along with it. Just another night unremembered – just hazy smiles and the fuzzy sounds. This guy picked her up during a rousing rendition of – something – by some local band. In the looming dawn of the morning after, she gathered and pulled on the gear that had gotten her here. But, the watch was gone. The fragile clasp had come open one last time as she dangled her arm out the side of the guy’s truck, as they barreled south on 94 to his place. She had laughed then, saying ‘how time flies’. But now she wondered, was it lying on the shoulder, to be swept up later and flushed along with the rest of the garbage into a street sweeper’s mechanical maw? Or was it in the road, getting crushed over and over by the wheels of commuters, 18-wheelers, and others with some place to go? She rubbed her eyes, straightened her top, and walked out the door.