(using this book, set timer for ten minutes and wrote a short story relating to the phrase “fix a flat tire,” lightly edited)
Hugh sang out his window as he sped down the highway. “And I can’t fight this feeling anymooooooooore…”
The Subaru made a sharp turn to the right. Hugh nonchalantly brought his left hand inside and put it on the wheel, lifted his foot from the gas pedal, and guided the injured car onto the shoulder. He set the emergency brake and killed the engine.
Humming to himself, Hugh stepped onto the pavement and sauntered to the back to get his jack and the spare. He’d driven these lonesome straight desert highways enough to know a flat tire when he got one.
The sun roasted his neck as he pumped the jack to raise the wagon. It was mid afternoon, prime sunburn time, but Hugh removed his shirt anyway. Without a breeze it was far too hot to work fully clothed.
He had just pulled the flat tire off, a pair of scissors firmly planted in the tread, when he heard another car coming up the road behind him. Its engine made a terrible noise, and when the car pulled in behind him, Hugh stood to greet his would-be rescuer. There on the shoulder was an ancient red Volkswagen bug.
He wondered if it had just happened to break down in the same spot.
The woman who got out of the bug was all smiles. “Howdy,” she called out. Her eyes widened as she took in his lean, sweaty torso. “Want some help?”
“Thanks, I got it.”
Looking unsure, the woman said, “Do you want some water, or maybe some sunblock?”
“Really, I’m fine,” Hugh said. “Be back on the road in a minute.”
“Okay. Take care!” The woman waved then dropped back into her car and roared away.
Hugh stared after her, the flat tire forgotten. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. He could have sworn that woman only had three fingers on her hand.