One time a woman said I'm the kind of man who would get into a car to kill himself. Nothing to do with the car. Just to have a place to sit and shoot myself. The earthworms in the dirt and the songs of birds vibrating in the air and the neatness of the garden. Soothing to me somehow. Like that in a woman which I pay a dear price to have. The world rotating. And the gears in the clockwork of all the working brains driving on. The instruments of their will do it what takes. But if the wind put a gun to my head, if it told me it was the Devil come to take my life I think I wouldn't mind. This old sperm donor sitting in the car going no where. His woman who knows him better than he knows himself comes in the garage and tells him to come inside and close the garage door. The children who disregard his presence wait at the table for their mother. If the wind put a gun to my head I think I would not mind.