He laughed
and jammed his accelerator, spraying slush and oily grit from the asphalt. I
covered my face as he scorched a half circle. Then, as
if to say that he was the one leaving, he raced into traffic, cars braking and
swerving, and soon his truck was gone from sight.
C’est la
dernière fois que le père et le fils se
sont vus et ça me fait penser à la façon dont mon père a toujours hâté nos adieux –
y compris le dernier.
– Déni Y. Bouchard, Cures for hunger
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