What does Home mean?

Living Muscle.

I was driving the Super Bird as my mother drove the Valiant.

After we arrived at the car show grounds and park, ignoring the people wetting theirselves to get closer looks, mom ran up to me and hugged me.

"Thank you for letting me drive it!

At first, I thought that it would be too hard.

I love it!" She said, holding the key toward me.

"What are you giving me that for, momma? If you love it so much, maybe you should have it." I grinned.

"Oh, no! Uh uh. Something that valuable is too much stress to deal with." She said.

"Mom. It doesn't matter how old it is, how valuable it is, or anything else.

If it will make you happy, and I saw the smile on your face the whole way here, I don't want it.

If you don't take that car, I think I'll crush it to make space in the shop." I said.

Several people gasped at the same time dad cringed.

Mom looked hesitant but put the key in dad's pocket.

"Okay. You convinced me." She said.

Everyone sighed.

"Oh, go somewhere!

We're not even ready for the show yet!" I snapped.

They dispersed and the director stepped forward.

"One hundred thousand gold." He said, holding out his hand after pointing at the keys still in my hand.

"Hah! Not for sale, for any price.

Bother me again and I'll start shooting it and walk home." I scoffed.

He flinched.

"You wouldn't dare."

I pulled my pistol and shot the front driver's side tire out.

"Okay! Okay. I'll leave you alone." He walked away, sparing glances over his shoulder.

I sighed and holstered my pistol.

Walking around to the trunk, I pulled out the jack and spare tire.

After changing them out, I laughed.

"I just realized that I destroyed one of the last tires for this car...

Oh well, it's not like I'd be able to really enjoy it to the fullest..."

"Excuse me." A child's voice said.

I looked and saw a little boy.

"Hey, there. Can I help you?" I asked.

"I was wondering if I could sit in your car." He said.

"Sure." I opened the door and he carefully climbed in.

The interior was still mildly cool from the A/C and I'd parked in the shade.

He had fun and, when he got out, he thanked me.

"Sorry about my dad. He's used to getting his way with anyone.

My friend's dad can make tires for you.

He makes them for people's cars in the city.

His name is Michael Tompson." He said.

"Ask your mom if you can ride with me after the show." I said, patting him on the head.

It will let me gauge her personality.

If she's a morph hater, I'll know.

After I opened the hood and doors on both cars, dad brought me a folding chair.