This is a Short Story
The old MG was feeling its age. I was too. As we raced the Midnight Express to the intersection, I thought back on how the years had changed us.
It was going to be close. More
This is a Short Story.
Racing down the back road toward the railroad crossing in my old MG, petal to the floor, approaching train blowing its whistle frantically, I thought back on how the years had changed us. In my youth, I'd have made the intersection with seconds to spare.
Now I wasn't so sure.