“I’m sure that the little girl in that back seat was signing us.” Molly said.
Dave snickered, “Ah, yeah? What’s she saying?”
Molly squinted, “She’s saying…you drive like a maniac!” She turned to Dave, “What’s the matter with you! You’re way too close.” She hit him on the arm and his foot loosened on the gas pedal.
“Hey! I’m sorry but I’m driving on the wrong side of everything here. It feels very weird and disorientating. You should be grateful that I’m such an awesome driver. No accident, no tickets.” Molly was grateful, in a way, but in other ways, she had not. Dave has always been a manic driver. Back in the U.S., Dave would snake around the freeway in his tiny two-door car, change lane the second the car in front of him slowed a tick on the speedometer. Weirdly enough, Dave had never gotten a ticket or accident.
“Oh come on!” Dave suddenly shouted.
“What?!” Molly did too, her hand flew to the handlebar above her. Dave didn’t reply. Instead, he sped up, turned on his blinker and went into the lane beside them. He didn’t go back to the left lane until they passed the blue and gray cars in front of them. “Dave! You’re gonna get us killed!”
This is a response for Roger Shipp’s new flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. We are given the beginning of the sentence and we are to finish the story.