The night is two feet deep.  Christmas lights reflect in rain slicked street sings while we sit in your car at this lonely intersection, waiting for the light to change.

The children in your radio sing Away in a Manger.  They are meant to sound like angels, but we know they are assholes.

We both sang in children’s choirs, almost twenty years ago, and now we are assholes.  The cool kids used to beat us up, and now we are assholes, sitting in your car, waiting for the light to change, two assholes, two days before Christmas, remembering how the cool kids used to beat us up.