Pablo Senior was pretty pissed off. He was standing outside, his thick arms crossed and his body leaning back defiantly on the hood of his most prized possession, a 1964 Chevy Impala Lowrider complete with wire wheels and six switches of hydraulics. Wearing only a white tee shirt and gray sweats, the forty year old man was anxious to get back inside, as the night breeze was threatening him with its cold embrace. The only thing preventing him from doing so was his feisty daughter, Melinda, who was busy pacing a few yards away, the keys to the vehicle held tightly in her grip. “I’m going to tell you again, you are not going to use my car.”
The twenty year old woman was quite used to getting her way. She’d abruptly moved out of her parents’ house as soon as she turned eighteen, gone against her father’s wishes and become a professional stripper as she tried, then failed to complete her classes in the hopes of becoming a beautician. Her father was still paying off the loan, she thought smugly to herself. “My car is in the shop. It won’t be ready for another couple of days. I need to use your car.”
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