Friday, July 10, 2015

Thick as a Brick

No sleep, fast food, and the smell of industrial cleaner Nate had employed on the previously blood-spattered dashboard had me hating the car’s interior. Classic rock tapes – the legacy of his misspent youth in constant rotation – were not helping.

“It occurs to me you’re a lot stronger now,” Nate said casually.

I twitched like a mouse mid-field with a hawk dropping fast. “Little bit, yeah.”

“Did you take my blood from the car?”


“So the smear on your fingers was from when I was out.”

I always forget how well he can punch and drive at the same time.


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