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Bad Driving

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     “Are you ready, old sport?” Gatsby yelled into the house as he leaned next to the door, holding his fancy black hat in his gloved hand. He wore a fine tuxedo, with a white dress shirt. It had taken Nick hours to convince Gatsby to not wear his classic pink suit. However, Gatsby insisted on wearing a pink bow tie.

     “Now I am,” Nick hurried out the door and spun to look at Gatsby. He wore a nice black suit, less expensive than Gatsby’s, with a similar top hat sitting on his head. His bow tie was also black, to Gatsby’s great disappointment. “How do I look?”

     “Handsome, as usual, old sport,” Gatsby flashed one of his golden smiles, and headed to the car. “Though I would have loved it if we matched,” Gatsby frowned at Nick’s bow tie. Nick shook his head, and got into the passenger’s seat.

     “The party started a few minutes ago.”

     “Don’t worry old sport, we’ll be there in no time,” Gatsby replied with confidence. Then, Gatsby slammed on the brakes, causing them both to lurch backwards into their seats.

    “Gatsby!” Nick cried, as he held onto his hat. “What are you doing? You’re going to get us killed!”

     “Don’t worry old sport!” Gatsby reassured him, as he held onto his own. “We’re going to be fine!”

    “You’re breaking the speed limit by about 15 miles!” Nick shouted, trying to convince Gatsby to ease up on the gas, even a little.

     “It’s okay old sport. I’m friends with the police, remember?” Gatsby replied, as they slammed to a stop at a crossroads, lurching the two forward. Suddenly, they were off roaring again.

     “I’m going to be sick,” Nick pleaded with Gatsby, holding onto his hat for dear life, as it tried desperately to get away from the car. His prayers were answered, as the car slowed to just five miles over the speed limit. Nick sighed in relief, loosening his grip on his hat, right before Gatsby swerved  to the left.

     “Sorry old sport; there was an animal in the way,” Gatsby explained, as Nick’s hat sailed in the air behind them.

     “My hat...” Nick watched his hat slowly disappear from view. Gatsby turned his head to catch a glimpse of the hat, shifting the vehicle to the right, before returning his eyes to the road and straightening out the car. “I’ll just have to wear your hat during the party,” Nick decided. Gatsby laughed, and made sure his hat was still atop his head.

    “But this is my hat, old sport. It matches my outfit,” Gatsby protested, as he slowly eased off the gas, the conversation distracting him.

    “Your hat was identical to mine, and we’re practically wearing the same thing,” Nick argued, happy that Gatsby was finally going at a normal speed.

     “Old sport, my outfit is ink black, while yours is a coal black. Two very different colors,” Gatsby replied, matter of factly.  

     “Gatsby, you’re going 10 miles under the speed limit.”

    “First you’re telling me to slow down, and now to speed up? Pick one, old sport” Gatsby grumbled, pressing on the brakes again, while Nick sighed.

    “And no, Gatsby. I simply don’t have an eye for color, but I doubt anyone at the party does either, so your hat will be mine for the evening,” Nick finished, convinced he won the argument, as Gatsby shook his head.

    “One of these days I’ll teach you to look at colors like I do, old sport. Everything is more beautiful with the more colors you see.”

     “And one of these days I’ll teach you to drive properly,” Nick smiled. “Everything's better when you’re in the car and you don’t feel like puking.”

    “Well then,” Gatsby started, sounding deeply offended. “Next time you can drive.”

    “With pleasure.”