he steps outside and is hit with that blast of air, 
unfamiliar to his skin after hours of warmth 
inside his friend-of-a-friend's home, 
late-fall sinking into his starch-stiff sleeves. 

his shoes drag him to the curb, 
his steadily freezing fingers fishing his phone from his pocket, opening Lyft,
a startling pink companion that always gets him where he needs to go.

maybe placing his trust eggs in the basket of an unfeeling application is foolish, 
but this is better than having no basket. 

he'll take better care of this one
he's smashed his basket a few times in the past. 
it's taken him a long time to reconstruct.