The windshield wipers were whining loud but I still couldn't get a clear sight of the black pick up truck ahead of us. I slowed to 60 then 45 then 40, craning my neck to the window and squinting past the water but it was worthless. You just couldn't see. I started worrying about...
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Two white-haired old men, face to face, grimacing. Grumbling, angry. Mumbling under their breath. Back and forth, over and over again. Posturing occasionally. Turning black with darted words, spittle flying. Screaming, out of control, throwing lightening bolts at one another. Spent, moving ...