After jamming a s’mores pop-tart in my mouth and slinging my backpack over my shoulder I unstuck the front door from its frame and stepped outside. Half-asleep, I slopped through the puddle and mush of drenched leaves and destroyed ant-hills outside my door. And Lady Luck, giving me a mischevious grin, dumped three tons of water on my head as I ducked beneath the over-hang for shelter from the rain.
Well, at least I was awake now.
I ran out from my unhelpful shelter and opened the door of my rusted, pale blue, ‘85 Buick Regal. So ugly, so unreliable, yet so cheap. It was every high schoolers dream.
A few minutes later, after several attemps to start my ancient car, I was pulling out of the driveway. It was then, that I realized I could not taste the blessed after-taste of coffee on my tongue. I gritted my teeth for a tough day and glared daggers at the old guy in front of me who was driving impossibly slow. I honked and pulled around next to him.
Only it wasn’t an old guy- it was a young, hot guy. Dang.