“If you’re going all the way to Clover Street, that would be super. I live near the corner of Clover and East Avenue,” I boldly announced at circus barker volume.
“Oh we can swing that way right honey?” she said, with a look that acted like a nudge. Leaned back and imagined I looked relaxed, even if running on 14-year-old testosterone. Ten minutes later, maybe less, there we were, in the very green and well manicured neighborhood.
“Thanks,” I said, closing the door of their white 1970 AMC Ambassador. Funny door handles, kind of square, that pulled open like the latch to an old freezer, only sideways.