We were in my truck sitting in the apparently permanent traffic you find at the intersection of Highway 100 and 494 in Bloomington.
“Thanks for taking me to the airport,” she said.
“No problem,” I said. “Remember when I used to go all the way in with you?”
“I do,” she said. “That was a long time ago.”
“It was,” I said. “Can’t do that anymore.”
“Nope.”
“Remember when I used to go all the way inside you?”
Laughing, “I do. That was a long time ago, too.”
“Yep. Can’t do that anymore.”
“Nope.”