Michael Kimball asked me to participate in his new film, 60 Writers 60 Minutes. I think I'm going to read this:
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.....The driver’s side tires thumped over the thing – no time to swerve – and the tire gave in like the under-skin of his own bare foot. The suspension squeaked weakly. A roll of nickels kicked his heel before retreating back under the seat.
.....Ok, he thought, and then he offered the engine a little more, ok.
.....He squinted at the blackening thing in the rearview, pinching the brim of his ball cap into focus. No time to stop.
.....Emily’s nose sank into the headrest. Her eyes were slugs all scared up, all welling down. He turned to study the dimple that punctuated her cheek every time he’d done something really right or something really fucking wrong.
.....Spurred backwards, she’d kept her seatbelt on.
.....Ok, he thought, and then he offered the engine a little more, ok.
.....He squinted at the blackening thing in the rearview, pinching the brim of his ball cap into focus. No time to stop.
.....Emily’s nose sank into the headrest. Her eyes were slugs all scared up, all welling down. He turned to study the dimple that punctuated her cheek every time he’d done something really right or something really fucking wrong.
.....Spurred backwards, she’d kept her seatbelt on.
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