"No thanks. Smoke?" I offered instead as my trembling hands rattled at a package of reds, struggling to handle the product due to our enormous speeds and the warping of light and gravity through the windshield.
"You're out of your mind smoking that crap." she says while suddenly digging in her purse with her free hand. The free hand which wasn't at the wheel as the neon blurred on all sides of us with wild colors. "Light me up." she ordered as I studied the chicken-foot bowl.
The scent of gasoline, burnt rubber and death filled the car as she glanced back at me with perfect, powder-blue, eyes. "What?" she asked curiously.
"What is that smell?" I replied, cautiously warming her pipe with a lighter before pressing it into her free hand. "Did a mouse die in the glove box, or something?" I ask.
"Dead chick in the trunk." she whispered before drawing deeply and taking a sudden left turn, my jaw smacked against the side window amid the whirl of blinking yellow streetlights and the towering pillars of enterprise which climbed into the stary heavens above.