daily paragraph
I remember driving back from visits to my grandmother. Dad driving, or maybe Mom if he had been drinking, although that situation was usually preceded by an argument. The three of us crammed in the back seat, in various states of consciousness, slouched over each other or leaning on the car window. I always had to hide my face when we passed the refinery; for some reason the blue/orange flames burning off excess gas always gave me the creeps. As my brothers snored softly, my dad's usual news station switched over to old 40's radio shows: The Shadow, The Inner Sanctum, Fibber McGee and Molly, Jack Benny, sometimes filled with canned laughter, and others with a plethora of creaking doors and shots in the dark. The latter made me shiver deliciously in back seat, watching the lights go by, until Mom shook my shoulder and told me it was time to come in the house; we were home.