Birthright

The indicators flashed as the driver’s door unlocked and the audible beep sounded as Gabe tossed the wrappers of his now-finished kebab into the trash bin. The blue of the Porsche reflected in his sunnies as he wiped his fingers on a now scrunched paper napkin, discarding it in the same receptacle as the wrappers. Retrieving his large drink cup from the crook of his arm he walked to the car and opened the driver’s door, sliding into the seat as the targa roof started to recede.
( I did like that falafel, not too dry. )