Lucky #7 gleamed. Her polish held a luster that the other carts lacked and that’s why he loved her. He always aimed to make a lasting first impression and she would be the means to that end.
He treated her tenderly. Soft cloths caressed her curves and dried the dew from her awning. His hands molded around her wheel with a gentle embrace.
The clients never noticed her shine or perfect canvas top as they scruffed up her white seats and stamped mud into her floorboards. One used her chrome detailing to guide picking remnants of lunch out of his teeth.
Drink flowed from flasks hidden in the golf bags in her caddy. The more they drank, the meaner they became. He wanted them to be nice to her, but they shoved him out of the way and climbed in, stomping their cleats and sloshing booze.
Beyond the curve to the 11th Hole, rage boiled in Lucky #7. She waited at the top of the hill near the sand trap. Her gleaming tires turned on the pristine grass inch by inch.
One of them struck her driver, angry that he had brought the wrong club. The chipper was accepted, but not before a harder shove sent him to sand. They all laughed as her driver raked out the imprint of his backside.
Lucky #7 loosed her brake and added a little gas as she angled over the crest of the pit and down through the sand. The man crunched and squished beneath her carriage, chipper still in hand.
Oil flowed through Lucky #7 by the means of an old dialysis pump. The last person it served before conversion had murdered her husband for beating their child to death.
Lucky #7 loved Archie. Heaven help anyone who picked on her Archie.
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Grand Prix (5th Place Finalist)
Truyện NgắnThis is a collection of my entries in the Grand Prix Challenge from The Pub club sponsored by @ChallengeCorner. Twelve prompts, twenty-five contestants. Let the race begin!
