Butch Burd’s pros and cons for buying the Pony car:
1. Miranda Stewart might look at me twice.
2. I can hop in the car anytime I want, and go
wherever I want. Except, curfew, which I don’t have, because I
never go anywhere
Daze Parade and Homecoming.
This section empty. There is no reason I shouldn’t buy the car. (Except, Dad may think I’ll visit him more often at the nudie colony. Which I won’t).
“Hhhhhhh,” I forced my heated breath onto the foggy fender of Mr. Johnson’s 69 Ford Mustang, and rubbed the spot with the corner of my tee shirt.
Classical music spilled out his front door, and he leaned far over his wood cane, both hands holding on for dear life. “Well, Butch, that’s the third time you’ve checked the oil.” He licked a shaky finger, and pasted the few gray strands of hair down over his forehead. Again. “Oil look all right?”
“Ah, yeah.” I poked the dipstick back in the hole.
Where was Dad? He knew I needed to give Mr. Johnson a decision about the Mustang. Today. He said he’d be here.
Dad didn’t know much about cars, but he did know business, and I was just a little worried about giving Mr. Johnson the three hundred dollars, stuffed in my back pocket, without him here. He was probably off gallivanting around with Gabby the Naked.