Avery: Never Better

Never Better
By Patrick Dacey

Hell is Dad’s 1984 Jeep Grand Wagoneer.

The smell of cigarette smoke, mint, and stale coffee gives me the worst kind of headache. I stare at the dried mug rings circled into the furred upholstery. The AM radio crackles in and out of transmission. The windows are rolled up and the heat’s blowing out the vents. I’m wearing a hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants and I can barely breathe. Dad has a little mechanical fan that he holds up to his face.

“This is good,” he says, moving the fan over the back of his neck. “You got to sweat that fat off if you want to make Bullets.”