Six Sentence Sunday #4
His name was Sonny, or at least that was what he called himself, and he was everything my parents hated, and that’s why I gravitated to him.
He also had a 1929 Ford Model T, and took me away the first night I met him.
I was working in a restaurant and he strolled in, the dust covering him streaks of tan and brown and red.
All he did was smile, and that’s all it took to melt my heart, pack my suitcase, and head West with a stranger who promised me the world.
I was seventeen, living in a small roadside town in Cornfield, Nebraska, and I was ready for life to start.
A half hour after arriving in Los Angeles, both my suitcase and Sonny were gone.