Sounds

By: Laura K.

At the concert, they played my favorite song, the one my mom used to dance with me to, when I was little.

Not so strange; it was a classic. Strange, though, to come from this band.  

I belted out the lyrics, joyful without reason.

Either it was just a coincidence; or my brother had requested it for me. It was the sort of thing he might do. Or it was a message from another realm.

I had four days to ask him. I decided not to.

Then he was gone too, and now I have to listen for two songs.

To the Pow

By: Amy Ball

Phil drives the rental; he’s Canadian and knows how to drive in the snow. I’m
assigned to navigation, music, and snacks, which I take seriously. First song: On the
Road Again by Willie Nelson.
“NO road trip is sanctioned unless this is the first song that is played.”
“Sanctioned? By whom?”
“Saint Ziggie, guardian of road trips. Obvs.”
“Obviously.” Eye roll.
“Left here for—wait, do you want kilometers or miles?”
He grins. “Metric, ‘Merican.”
I flip the settings on my app. “247 kilometers.”
The assortment of snacks in the center console ranges from sweet to salty to I-have-
no-clue-what-this-is-but-we’re-in-Japan-so-fuck-it.
“Yukō!”

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