“Any of this look familiar?” she asked.
The truck drove past spindly pines, branches bowed with that morning’s heavy snow. They were on their way to the train station, heading home from home, he supposed, feeling somehow like he belonged in neither. It had been years and he wondered if he shouldn’t have come sooner, or not at all. Things people said, or didn’t say or meant to say, or shouted instead of saying bounced around as the truck made its way down the two lane highway.
“You really not recognize any of this?” she asked again.
“No,” he answered.