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Rosetta Stone
He’d often joked with Sam that she spoke to him.
Dad started teaching him her language when he was still little, but he’d picked up most of it on his own. The split-second hesitation that meant her transmission needed attention, the ghost of a stutter that called for a tune-up, the slight change in pitch asking for a new muffler or exhaust pipe – he knew them all. Every change in shift, steering, or pedal response was part of their dialogue. He felt her.
Mechanical aptitude aside, he wondered whether he could teach Sam to listen to her with his heart.
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