I stare at the fuzzy blue dice hanging from the
rearview mirror and try to breathe through my
mouth to avoid the sour smell of his sweat. The
sun is hot on my thighs and I wish I hadn't worn
such short shorts.
I pat his arm quickly and sit on my hands to keep
my legs from sticking to the blue vinyl seat. The
radio has gone staticky but I don't dare touch it,
don't dare chance tuning into some honky tonker
moanin' the blues.
I don't know what to say so I keep pretending to
yawn, keep pretending he never said it. Each
time we pass a traffic sign, a whoosh like the
wind being forced out of an air mattress, quick
and all at once.