One Regret

trans amBy Brittany Weaver

It was a 1974 candy-apple red Trans Am. It’d just been restored – the tires, brand new; the paint job, metallic flecked and hardly dried. Then it was stolen.

That night, I had parked it in my driveway, and the next morning? Gone. No one knows where it went. Not my neighbors, not the cops. It was like it had disappeared into thin air. Apparently cars can do that now.

Just so you know, the car means nothing to me. I’ve got others. It’s not even the money that bothers me.

I just wish I hadn’t left that body in the trunk.


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