This is one of my favourite story’s.
The car door slammed. He’d put on weight. The car bucked and straightened as he belted up. His keys scratched the ignition chamber. He exhaled, bent over and carefully slid them in. He twisted violently, foot on the clutch, and the engine barked to life – and promptly died.
He breathed out once more.
He held the twist this time. The engine turned, the plugs sparked and the fuel pumped. He slumped into the seat and checked his mirror as his hand grasped unseeingly at the gearstick. He indicated and released the clutch and handbrake, rolling slowly onto the road.
The engine gurgled behind him.
I watched him as carefully as he watched the gauges. He passed easily through the gears, a long acquaintance smoothing any delay. He would take it slow for now, carefully watching traffic.
A slight tremble dragged across…
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