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Even with all the windows rolled down the air inside Frank's '88 Chevy
was much like the traffic along the Chula Vista highway, stagnant and dead. He mopped the sweat from his face with
a handkerchief and gazed ahead at the creeping line of traffic. Exhaust fumes and the intense humidity conspired
to strangle him, Frank imagined, like a slowly shrinking straitjacket. Every time he took a deep breath it seemed
to choke off somewhere in the middle of his throat.
Frank looked over at his wife, Louise. She fanned herself with the latest issue of Cosmopolitan while she toyed
with the air conditioner. Her face bore the crumpled expression of a baby on the verge of blowing chunks. Frank
recognized that look and didn't like it one bit; it usually meant trouble.
"Jesus 'H' Christ," she hissed. "The air conditioner don't work, Frank. Do you hear me? It don't
work!" She threw him a threatening look. "I thought you were gonna' take this hunka' crap over to the
Auto Mall last week and have it fixed?"
Frank stared ahead at the snaking line of traffic. "Sorry," he sighed, "I forgot."
"Well ain't that just like you," she muttered bitterly. "I reckon we'll just hafta' sit here and
melt then." She resumed fanning herself at a feverish pace, then stopped to glance at her watch. "Oh
for heaven's sake, it's already a quarter 'til six. The fish fry started over fifteen minutes ago. Ain't no way
we gonna'make it in time for the early-bird raffle."
"Don't worry 'bout no silly early bird," he said. "We'll get there in time for the rest of it."
"But the early-bird prize is one of them twelve piece Tupperware sets with all the fancy little accessories.
Like what we saw in that commercial. Don't you remember, Frank?"
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