The song came on in the grocery store of all places. He was standing in the cereal aisle with his phone in his hand and he just — stopped. It was a song he hadn't heard in fifteen years and hadn't thought about in longer. Back seat of somebody's car, summer, all of them singing too loud, a girl he'd been quietly in love with reaching over and turning it up. He remembered the specific blue of the dashboard lights. He remembered what she had smelled like. She had gotten married three years ago to somebody else, and he was happy for her, and this was still a different thing, a thing that could exist alongside the first thing without contradicting it. He stood in the aisle until the song ended.