I get a rush like a drug rush
when I get her email saying she needs my help
because the mayor she covers just got busted,
email, then text and not just from her,
but from our former temporary boss,
all of which I miss because I’m still on the road
when it happens.
I see only the notice on my phone
as I drive
my heart beats faster
as I press the accelerator
to get to my office
where I can respond,
caught up for the first time
in that cub routine,
as if I actually believe
she needs me when she doesn’t.
She’s too good at what she does,
and I know it,
and yet, it is as if we have changed roles,
I need her,
I am the cub reporter,
a feeling I also know can’t last.
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