by Jamie Iredell
The sun had sparkled over the eastern rim of the Truckee Meadows. The heat already rippled from the parking lot’s asphalt. Me and Jon did the McDonald’s Drive Thru for breakfast burritos and coffee, both of which nearly equaled the sun’s heat, literally. By that I mean that after those 93 million miles through space, through that electromagnetic field blocking hazardous radioactivity, and the sixty miles of our atmosphere, it was around a hundred degrees. So maybe the coffee was hotter. You might think I talk a lot. But I’m like a book when I drive: everything’s between the covers. So me and Jon swerved up the Truckee River gorge and the mountains had begun to yellow with autumn. The granite made me think of a dentist’s office: all gray and menacing, the boulders like molars. Jon himself was quiet. He liked birds. They hardly talk at all.