I brush the mints back together and build once more. My towers collapse consistently at the addition of the eighth drop. I repeat it no matter the count of failure. There is something reassuring in doing the same action over and over, knowing the result, its inevitability. A meditation with open eyes.
Beyond the tarnish of my windshield she loads her shopping into the back of her car. More wine than usual. She bought pancakes at the Waffle House, when I used to work there. Now she subsists on boxed mix. I look to the watch she bought me, its hands stopped on a meaningless hour.
The tower falls. She closes her door, looks around. Drives away. I brush the mints back together and build once more.