The ute’s back. I don’t mean the person in it — I mean the vehicle itself. The same ute, same white paint, same dusty rear bumper, parked in the same spot on the driveway. It sat there for three hours yesterday, then left. This morning, it’s back. I don’t know who drives it or why they choose to leave it there, but I notice. It feels less like a coincidence and more like a pattern forming. Maybe they’re waiting for someone, or maybe they’re waiting for me to notice. Either way, the ute’s back.