Grip (Start of the story)

The Grip

Big Bro’s eye stung from sweat as he blinked after magnified light the eighty eight Durango’s front windshield projected on his pupils. The sun radiates his vascular fore arms causing them to excrete tiny beads that grow and fall following veins to a plastic armrest. It was noon and the hoods of every car on the block had to be hot enough to fry an egg and cook a steak. He felt like a cupcake coming to rise in an easy bake and everything inside the dark blue sedan was on low broil and Big Bro thought he could take another hour and they would have to find some form of shade.