Traffic Jam Slam

Stuck on Route 22 with the commuter rail traffic back up. Nothing moving I am at a dead stop. I notice a landscaping truck, a red off road Ranger type, not unlike Max's, these red ford trucks always seem to catch my eye since Max got his. A man jumps out of the truck and into the bed. He is about my age very physically fit. He is bending over into a large tool box retrieving several large chain saws. At first I am fascinated my his movements, wondering if he has hip pain, like my ever present throbbing in my left hip. I imagine the bones inside of him as he bends, lifts and turns. It looks like his hips are working perfectly beneath his crisp khaki pants. I can make out the edge of his underwear, he must wear tighty whities not unlike Chris wore.....and down the slippery slope I go. My thought was that I will never have a man's butt to stare at that also belongs to me. I can look at Mr. Landscaper's ass but I can't touch, the only butt I can touch is gone. Even as I am thinking this I realize that it is bizarre, yet I can't stop staring, mostly at the underwear line. I still have all of Chris clothes (whities included) but they are empty, the shirts the jeans all flat, not filled with him. And yet I hang on to them.
The landscaper moves three chain saws to the back of the truck.He has a navy blue sweat shirt on, his hands look strong, I can see the roughness in the early morning light....even through my tear filled eyes. A horn beeps, the line is moving, I don't want to leave my spot, but I reluctantly inch ahead.
Crying the rest of the way to work for what I lost and what I will never have again.