Fleeting furrowed brow
I was driving the other day when a safety yellow convertible car (rare in Wellington due to the hit and miss weather) drove past. The driver was a middle aged man, balding from the front with the long hair at the back to make up for it and in the passenger seat was what I could only hope was his child. Neither of them looked like they were having fun. It was wrong. I thought the whole idea of having a convertible was because they are fun. Perhaps they have had the car for a while and the novelty wore off. Maybe the father was pissed off that it was his child next to him and not some sexy young thing in a bikini. It could have been the child was annoyed because the car doesn't talk like Jimmy's dad's car does. Or was it their faces trying to battle the mighty oncoming wind.
