There was a lot you could tell about a man from his vehicle. Rex’s was an older model Toyota pickup truck, functional, and not a small-p***s car trying to overcompensate for his lack in the Johnson area, as so many guys’ vehicles were. No beer cans on the floor, no butts in the ashtray, and it smelled clean.
Points all around.
“So, did you figure out the details yet?” I asked him as we rode back along the road toward town. For some reason, I constantly had the urge to bait him. Did he ever actually lose his temper? So far, there were no signs of his having one. His earlier comment about wanting to spank me didn’t count because he stated it in such a polite and even tone of voice.
Not at all the sound of a man who was about to lose his s**t, a nuance I’d been trained to recognize.
What
