Dylan was on the radio, and not one of the songs they always played, something good. The coffee held between his thighs was warm, and it looked like he had the whole highway to himself.
The next couple days would be rough.
But this wasn’t the time for that kind of thinking. He turned his head and spit out the window. The trees crowded up over the highway, and the sun shone through. Like some kind of heavenly hallway.
He remembered the taste of his first girlfriend’s gum. The way her skin smelled that summer day some twenty years before.
Prompt courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Write Photo.