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April 28, 2007
Bez pondered the most comfortable way to meet his friends in town today. He'd have to avoid the bridges, the interstates, the glances from other drivers though.
He was running late: words were exchanged but understanding was lost. He thought he'd told them it took so long because he's scared, or a mess but wasn't sure.
Bez called them and hour later when he reached their destination, finally leaning his head back against the seat. Relaxed, but unable to find a park. No answer.
So he daydreamed without supporting his head, and drove home, never flinching over the Howard Frankland.