The pit of his gut roiled. He rubbed his rain-soaked sleeve across his mouth. The rain sent the tart odor of half-digested food down the nearby drain but hadn’t rid his palette of the taste of copper and bile. His teeth chattered, mists of air rising from his tremulous lips, one particularly pained from the air bag’s deployment.
His baby, his pride and joy hugged the lamppost, crunched metal accordioned around the base in a fit of desperation. He flipped his collar and yanked it high to shield against the pelting drops turning his hair into a straggling veil over his eyes. Dudes with muscle cars weren’t supposed to cry so he passed his sniffles off as the rain and cold settling into his bones like a thousand needles burrowing deep for marrow and the blur of his vision rested squarely on nature’s shoulder. Worst of all, he couldn’t see the umbrella-wielding unicyclist that jumped off the curb into his path, landing him in this wet situation. If he was going to pass off anything, first would be his fist across the unicyclist’s jaw, if he could ever find him.