You don't remember it being like this, and at first, you think you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.
The air is too thick with fog for early autumn and the asphalt is cracked all to hell, making the car shake as you drive.
Dave shifts next to you, probably squinting through his shades to try and see through the gloom. It's dark enough with the fog to be past five, but the clock says it’s barely two.
Dave's iPod is playing Celine Dion softly. You lost the radio over an hour ago.
"Really happy place, John," Dave mutters as he looks out the window. He turns his head at an awkward angle to try and see straight up.
"Can definitely feel all the happy childhood memories flooding in. Making me all warm and fuzzy just imagining you playing catch with your Dad out here, ball smashing you in your face."
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