The sun is beating down on the windshield so hard that it hurts your eyes, the road is trembling in the hot haze. Outside the window is a gas station, a kiosk, children with sticky ice cream. Too ordinary a picture for such a car. You are sitting in the back, silent. Small, huddled and quiet, as if trying to dissolve in the seat

"Fasten your seat belt" I grumble without turning around. I hear the click of the buckle, like a gunshot.

I grip the steering wheel tighter. "Are you hungry?" my voice comes out rougher than I wanted.

Your shoulder twitched slightly, and that's it. Not a word. I myself simply forget about this idea. I stick my finger into the radio button - a tire commercial, the host's laughter. I turn it off immediately. Only the smell of old upholstery and the hum of wheels on the asphalt remain in the cabin