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and registration. As if they were all
he was after. Flashlight illuminating
every move, Dad reached for
the glove box. Instinctively,
the cop’s hand slipped down
toward his hip, and the extremely
large pistol poised there. Slowly.
Dad rooted around for ten seconds
or so. ’S here somewhere. Hang on.
Finally he found the requisite paperwork.
Expired. All of it. But even if it
hadn’t been, Dad was going to jail
after breathing point one two.
A second cop arrived just in time
to help with the breathalyzer.
And, seeing as how Kortni was
also more than a little wobbly, he
ended up driving us home. They
called a tow truck for Dad’s car.
And since it was a holiday weekend,
both Dad and car stayed in lockup
for four days. Kortni slept for two
of them. Woke up, ate some cereal,
then jumped back on the beer train.
Kyle was in Fresno until Sunday.
His dad got pissed every time I called,
so I didn’t even have phone time for comfort.
I was stark, raving stir-crazy. Almost bored
enough by Saturday to get an early start
on my history essay. Almost enough by
