Something Borrowed (25 of 50, 100 word post)

For a while now, I’ve been forced to drive my father’s car to and from work. Dad’s 83 and the car is 4, with 8800 miles on the odometer. After a few days, I noticed that the car changed me. I now fasten my seatbelt, drive under the speed limit and signal my turns—for miles and miles. I leave for work early, arrive early and don’t have my breakfast and coffee en route. Then, late Saturday night, I got my first speeding ticket in a decade. Either the effect has worn off or Dad’s been hiding something from me.