Avery remembered her journal post mostly for its brevity and its general air of why the hell is this necessary? Blunt and straight to the point. He did remember her discussing the car with someone else. A 1970 model, although he didn't remember what it was specifically. He wasn't into vehicles, unlike his brother, who thought Avery might as well be a chick since he wasn't into cars and sports. "I won't miss mine," he said. "Has more rust than paint on it." It had once belonged to his Uncle Roger's ex-wife's second cousin, and how he'd ended up with it was such a convoluted story that even he didn't remember it anymore.
He reached for a snowsuit, gloved fingers checking for a size tag. Medium would probably do, but the point was to wear layers to keep warm, so he put that one back in search of a large. Glancing in her direction when she asked if he'd ever been out of Louisiana, he replied, "Never. Not 'til now." Obviously. She was going to think he was an idiot, but then Avery was used to people thinking that he was a very odd duck for one reason or another.