He's driving and finding the words to tell his family that he's been laid off today. He wonders how his wife will take it, he wonders if she will cry.

He passes the grocery, the florist, the gas station where he would have filled up. He'll say he'd forgotten she'd asked him to pick up a few things. He knows that she'll understand.

The distance rolls up and spits out underneath him and still, for him it's too fast. The moment of knowing, the moment their life changes--changes again, he's been through this before--is coming at him with the open roar of a lion.

At the last corner he stops at the red light, looks around as if words were the leaves of the trees. A lone daisy smiles from the crack of the sidewalk. He pulls the car over, walks over and reaches down.