Write about: the lift.
With the help of my dad and uncle I performed my first oil change this afternoon. It was pretty fun, actually, and they both seemed to enjoy themselves. My dad in particular, as he suffered through my many years of complete lack of interest in 'car stuff'.
I imagine I'll be seeing and hearing about the pictures they insisted on taking for quite some time.
Cigarette smoke gathered around her face in the still morning air, framing her weather-beaten features and giving observers the impression that she'd just finished emerging from the depths of hell. A long exhale hid her from view for a moment and when she reappeared nothing seemed to have changed.
On the outside, at least. She still seemed deeply unhappy about some unknowable conflict. Internal? External? Spiritual? She had no interest in discussing it and only a fool would have pressed the issue.
But inside a change had been set in motion. It struggled through her veins, caressed tense muscles until they relaxed, almost against their will. A sigh detached from her belly and rose, ever so slowly, toward her lips.
The smoke had given her the lift she had so desperately needed.