Henry’s ‘78 Chevy Nova has seen better days. So has he.
The glove compartment rattles open when he takes a hard left, spilling out a dog-eared copy of The Sun Also Rises, a .38 revolver, and an old love letter he never sent.
He grips the wheel tighter, the neon glow of the strip club sign flickering in his rearview like a bad omen. He could turn around. Try again. Call her.
Instead, he pops the glove compartment shut, cranks the radio, and drives straight into the next mistake.
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