The drums lacked punch. The bass guitar was fuzzy and thin. And the vocals? Meh. Barely the growl she was looking for. Still, seventy-one-year-old Hazel McAllister sat in the driver’s seat of her nine-year-old Ford Focus, whipping her thinning silver hair back and forth to the newest release from Satan’s Seed.
Any metal was good metal.
A pair of teenage boys in a raised pick-up truck pulled up next to her at the stoplight. She stopped thrashing long enough to catch their wide eyes and uproarious laughter. The passenger rolled his window all the way down and leaned out. Hazel hit the switch to roll down her’s.
“Hell yeah, grandma!” The boy gave her the devil horns.
Hazel stuck out her tongue and returned the gesture. The light turned green.
“Don’t break a hip!” he said before the duo sped off into the sunset.
Hazel’s heart sank as her Ford crept through the crosswalk.
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