It was cold out, and it was night.  Brisk.  Low thirties.

Sitting at a stoplight I watched the parade of drivers pass by making a left-hand turn like I frequently do. 

Sometimes I get lucky and see a vignette of someone's life, sadly reduced to a left turn, but still, sometimes there is a window to another life there.

I looked at a man in a old green cheverolet pickup truck make the turn.  The truck was two-toned and had a cab.  The man was bundled up with scarf and gloves, and a hat pulled down tight.  He looked as cold as fuck.

Out of the wide open passenger side window dangled the head of an extremely happy basset hound, his eyes alight, his droopy ears flopping in the wind.

It must be love..