30.
ARTWORK: Beth O’Sullivan
memory exchange TILDA NJOO
7:56pm. Four minutes too early.
Judith sat in her car, hands folded across her lap. Her watch face was turned upwards. She waited. The evening’s pattern began at sundown. This was the only inconsistent part of Judith’s routine. The sun was fickle, setting later and later into the night as winter disappeared. It curved over the edge of the horizon and reflected in the car’s mirrors. Tonight, by the time she had turned her keys to silence the radio, she could no longer find the sun out of her windscreen.
