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In the car, you are grateful for the electric seat warmer. Heat your core, and the lightning dancing at the ends of your fingers might fade.
After-school pickups slow the traffic. A hulking SUV races up the inside, pushes its nose between Pat’s sedan and the truck in front. No indicator. Pat lets the SUV in. No thank you wave.
You gesture wildly. ‘That pisses me off. Wankers who think we’re beneath them.’
‘I thought you weren’t going to be grumpy anymore.’
You smile. Your oncologist called the growth in your bowel a bad luck cancer. But what triggered it? Bad diet? Too much alcohol? Not dealing with your father’s childhood bullying? Not doing what you should be doing? No wonder you’ve been grumpy most of your life.
‘Tackling old habits is hard.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ Pat says. ‘We do our best. It is what it is.’
You nod. ‘By the way, congrats on finding a buyer for the Triton ute. You must be relieved.’
‘I am,’ he says. ‘The money will come in handy. Now, I can clean up the garage and get on with restoring the Fiat Sport. That is when I’m not volunteering at the neighbourhood house or looking after grandkids. All good, though.’