A Work of Art, Fiction
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A Work of Art, Chapter 7

They drove in Sam’s little antique red MG, a gift from Gerald, driven by Gerald who, as Sam recognized, was more adept at driving it in town and parallel parking. They drove with the top off, enjoying the September sun and the warmth that those who had been in San Francisco only a few years called unusual. They had learned, anyway, that to enjoy the ride in a convertible car, you had to leave the heater at its highest setting. It made no difference on a hot day, and tempered the inevitable variations between shade, sun, and wind.

F-Line

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