He waits for him, every morning.
The remote start engine ticking over before spark catches alerts the window friend to be ready.
He thinks he’s a he and who am I to argue?
His namenotname is Ikigai.
Each morning he is there waiting, a constant in a world that is ever flux. Each afternoon is the same, sitting in the window with a quiet assurance of “oh look, yes, we’re still here. There is no cause to be concerned.”