Sunday, and he had the car out

The Carrera came out of the garage, which means he had decided I was getting out of the house today whether or not I agreed to it.

He drives that thing like it's on loan from someone he respects. I have seen him ride a motorcycle at a speed I refuse to write down and he will not take a corner hard with me in the passenger seat. Twenty years and he still thinks I don't notice the difference.

We didn't go anywhere. Two hours of roads that lead back to the same place, and I laughed at something around the second hour and heard myself do it, and so did he, and neither of us said anything about it.

First good day. Writing that down so I can find it later.