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Cars are flying down Gilmer Avenue on their way home. Everybody is hurrying along their way like a mass exodus out of town.
I like to watch at night on the couch with Maggie as we both hope that the next car is going to be my father's Honda cresting the hill. If he is in his BMW, then it is easy to tell because of his HID (high intensity discharge) headlamps on that car. I call them starlight headlights.
Dad is going to be cooking supper tonight. I requested fried salmon croquettes, but my Pops said they would stink up the house. I love those things.
"Your mother wants fillet mignons," my father told me. "And she has about swayed me to her side. You can't have the salmon. The house would smell of fish for 3 or 4 days." Harrumph!
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