Dear Sage
“Don’t ask, just get in!” she pats the side of the truck’s door, “C’mon, get in!”
I let out a huff of breath, gaze around the empty yard which glows gold in the setting sunlight and jog to the tan pickup. I swing the passenger door open and leap inside. The truck reeks of cigarettes and booze and despair. Sage smiles recklessly as she shifts the vehicle into drive, and starts forward with a violent jolt. The belt screeches as she takes off, speeding around corners with reckless abandon. Three beer cans roll out from underneath my seat and rattle across the floor. My seatbelt locks me in. Sage rides without one.