This Story Starts at the End: You Have to Write the Beginning
Greta stood in the back doorway that led into the garage. Alvin sat upright but unconscious in the front seat, his errand forgotten. He snored slightly. Greta made sure the garage was closed up tight, opened the car door on the driver’s side, and turned the key in the ignition. Alvin never stirred. Ambien and martinis were such a deadly combination.