Parade

It was scandalous. Grandpa was ninety-six years old, blind in one eye, half-deaf, and so fat it was debatable whether he could get his rotund self behind the wheel. But he had insisted until the family gave up.

And who knew? He had restored the jalopy in his youth and knew it the way a mother knew her own child. Maybe instinct would see him through.

Then a voice from the back seat.

“How much farther? Hand me another beer. I’m parched!”

Sharon sighed. Grandpa and his car were going to be the most memorable entry in this year’s parade.

This was written with words from Three Word Wednesday and photo prompt from Friday Fictioneers. Photo by Al Forbes.