Photo prompt: © C.E. Ayr
“He’s still there.” Morty whispered, his nose to the window.
“What’s he waiting for?” Bella pushed Morty over to make room, pressed her head to his.
“You’re not even allowed to stop for pick-up on roundabouts,” Bella noted.
Morty sighed. Since she’d found a driver’s-ed pamphlet, his twin had turned an insufferable source of traffic trivia. Never mind it’d be a million years before she could drive.
“Should we go ask?” Bella fidgeted.
Morty shook his head. “Dad said wait here.”
“But it’s been eight hours!”
It had. And almost as long since the old man showed up.