(This is an e-mail I sent my brother.)
He walked out into the morning dew. The sun shone down and exposed the heat and humidity of the day in unrelenting anger. Beads of sweat started to form on his bald palate and forehead as he slowly ambled toward the vehicle parked in the drive. He pulled on the latch and the door abruptly opened. He slid into the comfort of his seat, put the key into the ignition and turned. He heard the roar of the engine. Something he listened to almost every morning, but this day was different.
Immediately, he felt cold, crisp air blow onto his exposed skin, through his wisps of fine hair, on his face and neck, to his arms and shirt covered chest. The feeling overcame him. It had been a long time since he had felt the comfort of air conditioning in his car. And, thanks to his brother, Sam, he can't wait until late afternoon to feel the same joy. Every morning will be a new and vibrant day to him. It's great to be an American.
Immediately, he felt cold, crisp air blow onto his exposed skin, through his wisps of fine hair, on his face and neck, to his arms and shirt covered chest. The feeling overcame him. It had been a long time since he had felt the comfort of air conditioning in his car. And, thanks to his brother, Sam, he can't wait until late afternoon to feel the same joy. Every morning will be a new and vibrant day to him. It's great to be an American.
My brother, Sam, is not one to read this type of literature.
He is a real macho kind of guy.
That's why I wrote it this way.
A real thank you.
Of sorts.
He is a real macho kind of guy.
That's why I wrote it this way.
A real thank you.
Of sorts.
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