The gearshift had been sticking all month in third. Not today though. Not on the day when he had driven her to the airport. Not on the day that he let her walk away without kissing her on the mouth. Not on the day when the sun shone without distraction. Not on this day.
His left arm was sunburned from driving that summer. His right arm had gotten stronger from pushing the truck through its gears.
His shirt stuck to his back, drenched in wetness. Leather seats. When he leaned forward the wind would blow in and around and behind him, natural air conditioning.
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