[ I Don't Care As Long As They're Mine ]
The static sound of his car radio had filled the air. It was shrill and distinctive in its annoyance. Nevertheless, there was something particularly calming in it. It was an empty sound; mundane and gentle. As the saying went, silence was golden - and while Peter was not certain he agreed with the philosopher who had coined such a phrase, he was certain that it was all he wanted that evening.
His lip quirked as he reached to tap the button on his radio. In a sharp buzz, the static had perished, leaving nothing more than its distant footprint. A heavy breath escaped Peter as he leaned back into his chair. His forearms had found a nestling place upon the top of his steering wheel; his eyes had found their focus upon the garage door before him.
(incomplete - working incrementally)
