The car was made of retired dreams and rust but Timothy loved it. He would take any chance he could to get behind the wheel of the dark blue 87 Accord, even running his worrisome mother to the grocery store for pickles they didn't need. He'd only had the car a week.
"My sandwich will be so lame and lonely," Tim professed as he ushered his mom to the torn and stained passenger seat.
"You just ate breakfast an hour ago, sweetie."
"I'm like, totally a growing boy, ma!"
Tim darted around to the driver's side and flung himself into the tired vehicle. Mom was buckled in but still not convinced that her son truly needed a snack. When he turned the key nothing happened. Tim had left his dome light on overnight. His battery was now dead.
"We have baby carrots, dear."