ANNA
ALANZO’S CAR sped along the road. I was in the passenger seat, trying my best to stifle comments regarding his driving. He drove with his right hand in the two o’clock, never using his left hand for anything, not even to activate his turn signal. Sometimes, he steered with his knees. Still, he looked so relaxed and impossibly rakish behind the wheel. I wondered whether he found the privilege of driving – a privilege in which I herself could not afford to indulge until he let me use his car – boring. I found him more engaged when he was driving his Baby, like a new model SUV which was much more advance and multi-functional couldn’t still hold a candle to his first one.
But what was I going to say? He allowed me to have a car to use and a job that could afford diesel. I sighed. He
