Time for a nice story.
The car still smelled like french fries from the last time.
She cracked the window and looked at her phone shining like a camping flashlight on her lap. She scrolled through Facebook and her email, looking up every few seconds to check the mirrors, see if he was coming down the street. She hated it when he just appeared, his face in the window laughing. Scared her, ruined her calm, her purpose.
He tapped. She jumped and then unlocked the passenger door. He bustled in, first one shoulder then the other, thick like a linebacker in his green Army fatigue coat, so many layers, a t-shirt, a sweater, then the hoodie. Always the hoodie.
“Can you put your hoodie down? You look like a criminal,” she said. He complied, settling in, taking over the air. He smelled like man. Not bad but heavy, present. His self took over the car…
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