“Goddammit,” he whispered, looking at the bright sky.

The H2 roared to life; he watched the dogs dancing in the back. As it crept forward, playing out the slack, his dad ran around to the Delta’s driver side and got in. The Delta sputtered alive, and his dad threw it in drive, gassing it. The rope went tight, the H2’s wheels spun, and the Delta moved sideways…and inch…two inches…six…

“Hey!” the girl was yelling, pointing at the front tire of the Delta.

The H2 stopped moving, and the guy leaned out his window.

“There’s too much dirt next to the tire! It can’t turn like that! It’s gonna break or something!” she hollered.

And there was too much dirt. Jeremy pursed his lips, his glasses slipped to the tip of his nose, and he knew he’d really have to do some work now. There was no getting out of it. But his damn car was definitely getting out of it. There was no getting out of that.

*

His dad sat in the driver’s seat. Jeremy perched in the passenger’s, his feet in a pile of trash. Butch panted in the back. The H2 was turning around again, pointing its nose back the way the Delta would never go again.

“Nice folks, eh? Awful nice of them to get you out of that fuckin’ mess. So fuckin’ glad we didn’t have to keep digging. Real nice folks…” his dad went on and on.

The H2 slid by, bumping over the deep ruts left by the Delta. Two tanned arms waved from either side of it. Three dogs jounced in the back, barking and making the back end sashay. Jeremy hunched his shoulders and let his glasses fall into his lap.

*

A ratty Delta 88 rattled its way out of the wash into the Upper Lot. Several cyclists glanced up from pulling on shoes and spandex in curiosity. The rusted green hide was coated in dust. Dirt and pebbles fell from the spoked wheels. It looked as though it had crawled from a grave. The sun shone off the cracked windshield so that no one could see who was inside.