Plumes of black smoke stuttered up from the muffler of my grandmother’s abused Buick Riveria as she rocketed down the unfamiliar winding road. Zack and Angie, my much younger brother and sister, squealed gleefully as they tumbled over every each other in the back seat. I yanked my head phones off and swiveled around to glare at them.
“If you two don’t behave, I’m gonna whip you when we get out of this car.”
At this, Gran flicked the nub of her Lucky Strike out the window, assumed her single malt voice and said, “Sosha, who do you think you are, little girl? You will do no such thing. I know you’re hurting, darlin’, and I know you’ve got a lot on you right now, but those babies haven’t done a thing to you and I suggest that you cut this shit right now.”