Open Roads
He ran knuckles along the Formica like a traveling music man practicing invisible scales. From behind the counter she slapped down an insurance form. You reserved a sub-compact but we have larger cars on the lot, she said. I usually rent a small one — I’m not going far, he replied. She kept looking, as this was no answer. So he asked, do you have a convertible, something flashy? But in truth he wanted any car so long as he could eat in it messily. Maybe stain the seat with ketchup from a drive-thru burger. Freedom isn’t driving. It’s renting.
Photo credit: The Consumerist
Nice story Ilan, great imagery. Say hi to my sisters.