There is a jam up at the off ramp and when I finally creep up past the blockage, it is two people pushing a car. The car is shiny new, too new to be broken down. The people are very young, young enough to play chicken with a gas gauge on the highway.

At the book store I am a training opportunity. It's the first back-to-school day in September, and three new empty-nesters stand behind the counter in their twin sets. This is clearly their first user experience with a cash register and as they bend their blondedness to the task, I'll bet none of them last past the shock of their first paycheck.

Another on-ramp and I am looking at a Montana license plate. Don't think I've ever seen one before. I would imagine that's because there are just not a lot of them, and this one is making up for it, jammed with images of mountains, the state bird, state flower, a tree. It's stuck to the bumper of a rusting honest pick up truck, and the way it hiccups up the grade I can tell it's a manual transmission.

The man at the loading bay at the Goodwill knows me now enough ask me why I am giving away such good stuff. I laugh and tell him that's what happens when you get married at 40--you have three of everything. It's the easiest way I can describe it, as I am not married. I'm not 40, either.