The plates on my rusting ‘91 Accord said MLX1280. The plates on the gold Jaguar doing 50 in the fast lane said HIKLASS. I zipped alongside, and the driver had enormous sunglasses and bleach blonde hair. She was dark, though, and short, with thick lips and a flat nose, like my mom, who was still in the Philippines, at her father’s bedside. The driver smiled, so I faced the sea of brake lights we both raced toward.
by Josef Lemoine of West Covina
