The car sat in the farthest corner of the driveway. It was an old junk car that was up on blocks. Timmy’s father repeatedly says that he will repair it, but he never does. Timmy is thankful that the car is still around because he enjoys sitting in it alone with his thoughts.
Timmy walks up and down the driveway, his feet are crunching the leaves that have blown up against the blocks. He looks once to his left, once to his right and once straight ahead into the neighbor’s kitchen window, where no one is watching. Timmy lifts up the handle and then doubles over like a lawn chair. He enters headfirst and closes the door behind him. In the car he arranges himself so his legs are comfortably stretched out and his back is rest against the passenger
