"Never liked it anyway. Can't believe you let yourself get talked into paying for it in the first place."

They're making good time. She's not sure how much, or how long they've been at it-- in fact she doesn't know if they're making decent time at all, but it's what she thinks every time the squeal of burning rubber registers in her ears, or when increasingly busy intersections are somewhat recklessly cut through.

She barely hears him ask for her to switch on a little music. "Yeah, no problem," and it's nothing good, just a local jazz station of all things. He'll have to make do; her hands are a little too preoccupied to go shuffling through whatever else there is.