Here’s the thing. You never know.

Mo and I are out on an emergency frame-buying mission. Don’t ask. On the way back, we stop by the track. Because, well, you never know. I might have mentioned that.

And it’s open.

Two football players on the front stretch. Gazelles on the back. It’s like nothing ever happened. We just look at each other.

Then Mo’s car breaks, and then my car breaks, and I spend a delightful day off confirming mechanics’ suspicions that I don’t have a clue what makes cars go. Sure, I don’t know how a carburetor works. But ask me about a Garmin 235. OK, I don’t know how that works either. Maybe don’t talk to me at all.

But then I eventually get one car back, and then the other, and life goes on. I head to the track just as the sun goes down. The sign at the college says it’s still 95, but it’s that sort of warm summer evening that feels good, even if it’s only April. No more sun, a little breeze. The burrowing owls are swooping overhead, looking for Mo’s pet mouse. Two Chinese tennis players are yammering in the dark on the front stretch between imaginary serves. Other than that, I have the track to myself.

No music. I embrace the perfect silence, other than the freeway traffic in the background and some overcaffeinated tennis players on the court. The lights are on all the way around, giving it a soft glow. It couldn’t be more perfect.

What happened? Did they decide to keep it open? Are they still debating? Did a modern-day Monkey Wrench Gang cut the locks? Those football players a couple days ago looked a bit deranged. I don’t care. It’s Tuesday night and I have a track.

Two miles is all I’ve got. Besides, it’s almost time for “The New Girl,” and life is all about priorities. I wave goodbye to the owls, nod to the tennis players, take one last look.

Maybe the track will close soon. Maybe I’ll die in a flaming car crash on the way home and it won’t matter. Who knew brake fluid was important?

Ruth gonna do what Ruth gonna do. All you can do is watch the show. How will it end? Here’s the thing. You never know. You put on your shoes and try to figure out the 235 one more time. Who needs Lilypads anyhow? Triangles. I don’t even know what this means.

Bring on the garden hose …