the 25 dollar short story

I wrote a short story years ago
on an electric typewriter,
the kind with the ribbon.
the cartridge that you had
to replace time and time again.
the keys would get stuck
and the ink would smudge.
but it served me well.
I won twenty five dollars
at the local community
college for the story.
it was about a marriage.
a man and a woman falling
apart at the seams.
it's snowing, but the man
leaves, tries to leave
in the snow covered car,
but the snow is too heavy,
the car won't start.
his wife comes looking for him
out in the sleet and wind,
the heavy snow.
she finds him in the car,
almost asleep, shivering.
she opens the door
and gets in with him.
she tells him she's sorry
for the years of
arguing, for the pain she's
caused him, he tells her
the same. they talk.
they look different in
the shadowy light of darkness.
they talk about when they
first met, how they used
to drive this car to the
eastern shore, stopping
along the way for fruit
and vegetables at stands
along route 50. she moves
closer to him, puts her
hands around his waist.
they say nothing for a long
time as the snow continues
to fall, covering the windows.
flakes as large as leaves.
the streets are silent.
the lamp lights sends a
glow upon them as they
huddle against the cold.
somehow in the cramped seats,
they make love.
they start again. that's
how my story goes.