CARS PACKED WITH DIRT
MICHAEL PRENN, STAR
Daddy watched me play with the cars. "How's the drivers see through that dirt?" he asked. Any kid knew it was a dumb question. They didn't have drivers. It was playing, that's all. I felt I had to answer something.
"They can't. They feel the track through the wheel."
He crushed out his cigarette. "Seems about right."
The ambulance came closer, no lights. Mom wheeled the oxygen tanks to the front door—weren't no use now. I raced the purple car along the porch and it flew into the pokeweed.
"Better go find that car," my dad said, and went inside.
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