“What kind of people use one car to drag along another car?” I asked my mom.
She looked over to me, her eyes squinting in the sun, her wrinkles reaching across her round face. It was a dark face–one the sun knew well, having placed its rough touch on her long ago and never releasing it. It was a wonderful, yet harsh embrace that I was just beginning to learn.
“People much richer than us,” she said simply, and turned back to watch the spectacle.
*Written in response to the Friday Fictioneers photo prompt.