Heres and example of my fine tuning of my writting. I did some revising to the segment posted earlier. I've got more done, but I'll post it later on when I'm done.
Knocking over bottles of mustard, ketchup, and hot sauce, Frank dug to the depths of the refrigerator finally grabbing hold of the icy cold 6 pack of Budweiser. With car keys dangling from his mouth, six-pack in one hand, toolbox in the other, he dashed out the door. No more work today, no girlfriend tonight; no plans, no worries, the shackles and weights had been removed. Freedom, Friday evening was an open book with blank pages waiting to be filled.
The sun had begun its lazy decent into the horizon, the sky slowly changed hues as dawn came. The tall grasses and brush stood still, no breeze to rustle them, no relief from the oppressive humidity and heat of a southern summer.
Tossing the six-pack and toolbox in the back Frank slid onto the aged vinyl seats. If it wasn’t for the cars age or status it would of long been forgotten and took up residence in an automotive boneyard. She wasn’t a thing of beauty anymore with primered body panels, faded paint, and a bumper bent into the shape of a frown. Nor was she any longer the best running street machine, the engine tended to flood out at every stop if the throttle wasn’t played with, also under heavy acceleration one could hear the tell tale pings of detonation.
With a twist of the key in the ignition, the starter spun over, current flowed through the corroded ignition points. The 389 came alive, breathing through 2 of the 6 venturie’s. The unique chatter of solid lifters could be heard.
Patting the dash with satisfaction he gently whispered under his breath “That’s right baby. Me and you are going to have some good times.”
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