“Fifteen,” Jeff warned me, and hung up.
“Asperger’s,” I muttered as I got up to retrieve my backpack. “That’s got to be it.”
But I could reflect on Jeff’s foibles as I was driving. If he said fifteen minutes, he meant fifteen minutes. I ran the risk of him not being there at all if I shilly-shallied and got there later than I said I would.
It was a beautiful day, clear and cold and bright. I shoved my sunglasses on my nose as I hurried down the steps to the UFO Night Tours van, which looked particularly shabby in the white morning light. Maybe it was time for a new paint job.
Or maybe it’s time to buy yourself a real car, I thought as I climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned over, but grudgingly, and I wondered if I needed to add a new batt
