Setting the basket of fruits down into the bed of the truck, Nana lifted the door and pushed it shut behind her, the clunk of it sounding loud against the serene quiet of the evening. After a long day of work, it was time to head back home. She clicked the latch into place, clapped off some of the dust from her palms, and climbed into the driver's seat with a grunt.
She slotted the key through the ignition hole, twisted it in, and the engine roared to life with a throaty growl.
“No, not today,” she grumbled to the truck like it could hear her. “Not this night.”
Not this morning; not tonight; not this afternoon. Whatever day problems like that came, people would always say it wasn't the right timing like they could accept there being a better time for it to happen. Sometimes there was.
