by Sparks In Shadow
“Gotta see if Gary’ll lend me a spray gun till next week.”
Now I’m in the passenger seat, waiting again. I bet they’re jabbering, forgetting time. Work, cars, gossip. I get music control all day because of the waiting. He said so once. Now it stands.
Sampling stations, thinking about how long we’ll be out and how he likes most everything including left leaning news and NPR, I almost choose classical, but the quieter parts fade with road noise.
Then Sinatra starts. Mmm. I smile, turning it up so he’ll groan before reaching the car. I hope Dean Martin’s next.