I’m sitting at a Starbucks on a fresh October morning, the sun slanting sideways to let a biting breeze have its way. Winter is coming. You can feel it now. There will be no more warm days. There will be no more jacket-less evenings, bare skin bathing in humidity.

I’m drinking hot coffee. The official switch after iced drinks for months.

I’m waiting until the car wash next door opens. It’s been a long time, and my car is dirty in the truest sense of the word—dirt, twigs, leaves, pebbles littering the floor, making me nuts.

I’m wondering why we, as a society, deem a clean car as something you just have, of course. It’s a little silly. Clean cars inevitably become dirty soon again. But we have this thing—self presentation—and it matters, to us.

I’m thinking about the daily maintenance required to be a functioning human being in Western society. Clean cars. Clean clothes. Clean teeth. Clean hair. Shiny. New. Unfettered from the confines of restricted access to clean water and other basic human needs.

I’m packing up for the car wash in hopes I’ve timed it well and and will get to work when I’m supposed to.

I’m hoping today will be a good day.