The car window whined and knocked as Roger pressed the down button repeatedly.
“Gotta get that fixed,” he mumbled. A blast of misty air smelling of fish and diesel fuel assaulted his nostrils.
He hated the ferry. The cars and trucks sandwiched in rows, bumper to bumper like sardines triggered his claustrophobia.
On choppy days like today, the teeter-tottering of the vessel would likely curdle the yoghurt he’d had for breakfast. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost the contents of his stomach on this trip. But this would be the last time. He just didn’t know it yet.
100 words for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers Challenge inspired by the photo above by Ted Strutz.