Hoss was outside, leaning on his horn so long I thought it was broken.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I shouted as I came out on the porch. He grinned at me from the truck.

“Fourth of July, bud! Whoo hoo!” He howled like a dog. I got in the passenger side, pushing the beers and whisky down the bench seat as he tore across the neighbor’s lawn in a cloud of exhaust and dirt.

“I got a surprise for you,” he shouted over the roaring engine. “Fun times before the fireworks!”

He winked and patted the pistol in his belt.


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