![]() I had bought the Impala the week before from Raymond’s uncle Les. He knew not to talk shit about my Impala. Raymond had talked around the drag enough to boil my blood. ![]() The drag got gradually worse the higher up the pass we got. Though the traffic was light and there wasn’t too much snow to worry about as it was still early yet, the Impala was dragging. ![]() “It’s all right,” I said, my mind lost on the road behind me, my knuckles holding the road ahead steady. He had lost his front teeth steer wrestling earlier that spring, and his speech was slithery and filled with saliva. His mouth slipped at words with a hollow smile. “Bah, that’s not bad, huh,” said Raymond, clapping. ![]() The last of the gas station whisky passed between us. M y hands gripped the wheel of the ’65 Impala as we made it over Rogers Pass.
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