Page 64 of The Stick Handler

That grin is back when I look at him. “You know something about cars?”

I shrug. “Sure…and duck tape.”

He laughs and says, “It’s not…” he shakes his head. “Never mind. So, you agree then, that something’s not firing right?”

Firing? Oh, things were firing all right, and lighting up my body like a goddamn Fourth of July celebration.

Damn him.

Damn Mother Nature.

Damn dim-witted moths.