Volare

Bobby’s heartbeat throbbed through his now-swelling lip.

“Why’d he punch you, Robert?”

Speeding away, Bobby wrapped his arm around Sherry and nodded to his father in the backseat, face-glued to his phone.

“Watch your show, Pop.”

Sherry took her last bite, “Bob, you’re bleeding.”

A thin red bead grinned back from between his front teeth. Sher chucked the core.

“HA! I know this guy.”

“Don’t do that, Sher.”

“It’s composting.”

“It’s Littering. Which guy, Pop?”

“The painter! He was in that Tom Waits movie.”

Bobby slowed to U-turn.

Sherry wriggled his arm out.

“Let’s go make this right, Pop.”