I took my dad's big red truck to get looked at by my mechanic uncle in Hollywood. Florida. The last time I followed my dad driving it he'd been in the hospital a couple days. He barely stayed at night in his lane on I95 and I got the expected visions of a wrecked truck at some point. But I got a sense of the muddy steering while doing 75 the tires too big or cheap. It felt like I'd put on a shoe too big for me. The bench seat wide open my elbows far out to set on the center console and door arm rest me surely looking like a chicken about to flap out the window. The driver door speaker did what it could a functioning alcoholic so I turned it down drove in silence listened for something broken. When I got to my uncle's he put on the radio in his garage and on comes the last song I heard my dad sing while sitting in my living room an unlit cigar in his mouth like a kid pretending to be an adult. I can't decide if it is a sweet or bitter whisper but I close my eyes and hold on for just a second before what the fucking my uncle and as I drove home I sang the two words every so often trying to hear my father in my head: Hola Soledad.