Not much is needed, besides good food, select music, and the same unruly road. The 2016 SUV still delivers, though we should at least promise to change her front tires. Soon. Fortunately, our Oxford gray ride is trustworthy, even if she croaks over the dimpled streets of this overgrown city.

This morning, your avocado toast soothes with the aroma of sprouted wheat, and my coffee seethes in its metal thermos. But before digging in, you roamed my paid subscription to Spotify and decided to try our luck with an album we haven’t heard yet. It might be a good one. We are a curious pair, of tired city dwellers, commuting each day in hope and determination, that these repetitions will bear fruit for your future.

Resolve has become invisible, we feel compelled. ¿Is it the strange working of destiny that makes us travel the twists and crannies of the urban sprawl? The SUV sails among a potpourri of vehicles and trailers, making their own ways, detached from our cause. You bite into the golden toast with certainty. I’ll take that as a good omen after a much needed swig. The piping hot brew disseminates hope.

This is our ritual.

You illustrate, without intending to, how it is to be so young, gambling on a road with few guarantees. You make me recall. I also used to love toast in the morning and looked out the window as I commuted to school. The city’s corners, its sequestered neighborhoods, populated by gamblers of life, watch us roll by.

We loved the album, turned out your selected artist was a darn good songwriter. If it weren’t for you I’d never  have known, that’s the thing. We are commuters compelled by shared destinies, travelers, and our road in company already contains the secret password, the lucky charm, your future behind the muddled housing.

Soon, I see variegated meadows stretching ahead. Oxford gray roads meld into a new portrait. Our SUV is now venturing into crisp, new territory, the city left behind. Cows graze comforted, green is the guiding color,  just as you finish the last of your avo toast.