The last thing Stanley expected on his birthday was company. From the living room window he watched the gold El Dorado arc into the driveway next to his truck. The small explosions of gravel underneath its faded white wall tires, along with the engine’s choppy motor, threw his pulse off kilter. He smoothed the Brill-creamed locks of blond hair, what was left of it, to his skull, wondering if Cindy had come back from the dead. It was the only present he wanted. His hand rattled against the doorknob as he opened the door.
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