Summer Camp

Terry yelled, ramming both of his fists defiantly on the steering wheel of his Nissan Note.
“This car gives me nothing but trouble.”
His two buddies, Jake and Billy, tried to pretend they couldn't hear him. They had so many other wonderful things to pay attention to, the beautiful scenery stretching for miles ahead of them as they sat motionless on the road, as the searing rays of the noontime July sun cast intriguing patterns of bitter, burning sweat lines running down each other's faces. It was not turning out to be a good trip. And Terry's temper was starting to show, which didn't help to defuse their problem.
“I just had those brakes replaced last month. What the hell is wrong with them?”
Terry's green eyes glistened with anger as he threw the driver door open with his powerful left arm. Jake, in the front seat, chanced a quick look into the back, where Billy just shrugged.
He was hungry. The chicken sandwiches his mother had made had been tantalizing him for over two hours. The bag had rolled around on the seat, along with his thermos ask every time Terry had braked or went around a corner.
When the door opened, a wicked hot breeze whipped around the inside of the car, scooping up crumpled chewing gum wrappers and torn magazine pages and teased the bare, hairy legs of the three young men who dared to be there. Perhaps even the wind felt threatened in Terry's domineering presence. Jake sometimes did.
It was always quiet in those anticlimactic days following the end of the University year. It was the start of the holidays, people were off work, and more broke that year than usual. It was hardly surprising they were keen to begin having fun.