Through the grisaille of dawn we sped across the flatland, our dying Micra buffetted by the wind and shuddering to a near stall at each intersection.
Nothing could stop us.
Ninety minutes later, Sam was hoisted into the air, wailing loud and covered with a thick layer of creamy vernix. “What a big one!” exlaimed the gynecologist, and we burst out laughing.
That’s one for my baby,
And one more for the road
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