He can’t fully understand the work involved in restoring a car because he’s never done it, and when he does contribute, it’s only to piss everyone off.
I’m gonna eat, so get over it.” This is coming from a guy who doesn’t have a car of his own and has to either borrow ours whenever he wants to go somewhere or bum rides off of us. “Or what? I swear you, Reggie and Jeremy are all the same about your cars. “You better not spill that shit in my car,” I snap Jeremy and I just got the interior of the Chevelle fixed and if he drops a single crumb, I’m going to thump his skull. “What?” He holds the bag open for me to grab a chip and I just wave him off. When Jake begins tearing open a bag of Doritos and cracking a can of Mountain Dew, the noise distracts me enough from my thoughts to glare over at him. The early winter in Sulfur Heights was a huge shock to everyone’s system. The air is getting a little warmer the further south we go and I’m looking forward to getting to the warm Memphis air. The weather has been more than cooperative for us clear skies with no rain or snow to contend with. The nerves about seeing Presley in less than nine hours intensifies every mile we get closer to Memphis.
My stomach is aching, but food will do nothing to ease the pain. We stopped just outside Indianapolis to get gas and something to eat. She’s had a dark story of her own to tell, and finally after three years, she can let it all out.
Many of their songs remind me of Presley and when “The Story” comes on, she is the first person to pop into my head. I pick up my iPod and switch it over to Thirty Seconds to Mars, allowing the music to help me escape. The passing lights are hypnotic as they shine through the windshield, lightly illuminating the inside of the car. There is not much traffic once we get on the open interstate, semi's mostly.
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