28, Arabian Nights

Sunday afternoon, May14th

They both were trim, tall, and glowing with buoyant energy. In their old rag-top VW Bug we headed west out of Indianapolis with the sun slung low, staring us in the eyes. The day had been frustrating. I’d covered little distance and decided this would be my last ride of the day. The loose convertible top slapped the frame as we sped up, becoming a fast cracking whip at freeway speed.

“Right now,” Jonathan shouted, “I’m writing a play.” He wore his brown hair over his ears, but not shaggy, “and Liz is an interior decorator.”

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