It had rained all day and the cold air was fresh and new, a rare treat for southern california. He was on his way to work but the chill in the air triggered thoughts of his younger years when his father was still alive. His father was a truck driver and occasionally his mother would take him to work. It never made sense to him that his mother would drive all that way when his father had his own car, but being older now he realized his father worked long hours, sometimes 7 days a week to pay for his private school, and this was their only way of spending time together. Since he was on summer break he would wake up early to tag along with his parents. Usually there was time to stop at a donut shop a few miles from his work, and thay would spend a minutes drinking their coffee talking. Funny thing is now he couldn’t tell you in detail any of their conversations, but looking back these early morning drives to his fathers work were some of his best childhood memories. It wasn’t just the donut and chocolate milk that was his motivation, he didn’t realize it at the time but this was also his way of stealing time back time with his father. Most days his father would leave before he woke up, before the sun even rose, and he would be lucky if his father returned in time for dinner. His father drove an old rusty beat up 1957 chevy truck, its rough idling and rusty squeaks gave it a very distinct sound. The sound would always announce his fathers return from work. It must have been a company truck because there were to white blotches of paint on each door, appearently where someone painted painted over the company name. Not sure why they used white since the truck was dark green but this lazy effort resulted in what really looked to white clouds. To his childhood eyes they did look like clouds, and he never really questioned why they were there, he just accepted them as clouds.