Books.

Oil dripped and puddled onto the gravel beneath Jimmy's Ford F150. He lay on his back and pulled himself underneath for a closer look at the leak.

Sheila peered up at the midday sun, which had just burst through clouds on either side, and then back down at Jimmy's feet, protruding from underneath the truck.

"I hate that book", Jimmy complained. He never had read it, but he knew he'd hate it if he did.

Sheila looked down at him and snorted. "Someday they'll make a movie out of it. Then you can tell me how much you hate that too."

"Probably."  Jimmy kept working.

"Have you ever even read a book?"

"No. Books are a waste of time. I have better things to do."

"Well, so do I." Sheila slid off the stone wall on which she'd been sitting, patted herself free of the gravel and dust on her pants, and walked down the road toward home.

Jimmy pulled himself out from under the truck and watched her walk; the sun burned shadows beside her and haloes around her backside and head as she strode away.  He shook his head. "Books," he murmured, and slid back underneath the truck.

-- 200 words.