“Jeanine, wake up. Breakfast time.”

I killed the engine and opened my door. To be fair, it was actually pretty nippy out, which was good because it would wake Jeanine from whatever coma she was in. The sun couldn’t have been up for more than 30 minutes, so I had some time to kill, but I didn’t want her cutting into my morning.

“I’m up,” she said. “What the fuck? Close the door!”

“You want a burrito or something? I’m going in.”

“Where the fuck are we?” She peered up and looked backwards out her window. Catching a foggy glimpse of her reflection, her eyes jolted open. She whipped down the passenger sunshade and slid open the mirror.

“Jesus fuck! What happened to me? Oh my god.” Her voice raised in pitch so I was pretty sure she might start crying.

“Do you want a coffee or something? I can spot you.”

Suddenly she gasped. “It was that bitch, Nicoletta! We were at the Shell last night!” She looked at me through engorged, purple eyes. “You’re a good boy, taking me. I know you fuckin hate it there, By.” She reached out and touched my shoulder, before returning to her Mike Tyson filter in the sunshade mirror. “What the fuck?”