We were driving. It didn't much matter where. We were always driving. I loved to watch him drive. He was so passionate about every single movement he made with the car. Every time he walked by it to get into the driver's seat he would caress the fender. He would make a little caress with his thumb on the door handle. He 'd flick the key with a practiced, gentle yet firm motion to spark the powerful engine over into its growly life. Every shift was done with a loving caress of the shifter. He would roll the windows down and let the wind rush in and even the motion of moving the window down was passionate He talked over the rushing wind and the loudness of his "mullet rock". He loved that car. He loved me. His movements with me were equally passionate, and very similar.
He would sing along to this music, AC/DC, Motorhead, Led Zeppelin. He was passionate about music. I loved the way he sung his heart out, even know he couldn't sing anything. The thoughts of the sound of him singing still make me laugh. He didn't care that he couldn't sing. Every song he played had some sort of meaning to him. All he cared about was that he was driving way to fast, with the music way to loud. He liked to push the car far to hard. He liked to push me far too hard too. But I loved every second of it.
I miss him alot sometimes, but I know he would want me to pick up and move on. Hunting. Saving People, Hunting Things. The Family Business.
So there it is. My first story. Review please, and tell me what you think.