Caressing the engine block, “Our Sundays were always spent over this”.
Dad,”Son please pass me the crank?.”
It’s delicious weight balances out my arm.
Creak, creak, creak.
Son,”dad what will happen if ……..”
I added too much pressure and a stray bolt careens over my shoulder
Craig fell a .22 still in hand, with a dripping hole in his forehead.
Written for the Grammar Ghoul: Chimera 66 writing challenge
Image courtesy http://www.flickr.com/photos/ericsilva2/