Miles Per Hour
"Road trip," Spot had said tossing Jack's jacket at him where he sat watching the game. He'd promised Jack that it would be fun, just a couple of guys, a gorgeous car and the open road ahead of them. The road rising like a ribbon before them, the sky blue and endless above them, was what he had promised Jack.
"I'm going to fucking kill you," Jack promised for the third time in the last half hour. Black smoke belched up from the hood of his car –his beautiful, recently restored car- and Spot was sprawled out on the desert sand beside the car, looking pleased as anything. Jack pulled his new as of Sante Fe cowboy hat lower on his head, shading his eyes from the unrelenting sun "I'm going to fucking kill you."
One tow truck an too expensive repair job, two weeks, 12000 miles later Spot flopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the table. He was still pale but freckles had cropped up on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose from too many hours in the sun.
"Aren't you glad I talked you into this?" Jack asked, turning his head to look up at Spot as a bright smile flashed pearly teeth. Spot didn't even open his eyes when he flipped him off.