Miguel tried everything possible, desperate to soften the block of stress etched onto Fedora's countenance, a tension that radiated off the boy's body like a nuclear gas. He started by turning on the warmer, thinking perhaps the chill was the culprit, but that didn't work.
He switched to the cooler, thinking maybe it was too hot, but that wasn't working either.
Miguel even resorted to winding down the windows, seeking a breath of fresh air to break the stagnation, but each attempt only seemed to agitate Fedora further.
The ridiculous part of this whole ordeal was the fact that Miguel was strangely overwhelmed and scared.
Scared.
That word felt strange and foreign, a concept long ago deleted from Miguel's dictionary.
It was absurd; he didn't believe in such vulnerabilities. But today, trapped inside the confined, leather-scented space of his car, Miguel couldn't help but remain on edge.
