Jack sits, silent, and hits the steering wheel viciously with the heel of one hand.
"Shit." Low and rough, before the creak of a door opening and the slam of it shutting behind him, boots crunching on gravel, and Jack stands there, feeling like he can't quite get enough air, can't sit in the truck and can't stand out here, neither.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-05-05 08:16 pm (UTC)"Shit." Low and rough, before the creak of a door opening and the slam of it shutting behind him, boots crunching on gravel, and Jack stands there, feeling like he can't quite get enough air, can't sit in the truck and can't stand out here, neither.
All those things, finally said.
No, not said. Still not.
Shit.