Not any different this time, as they’re driving away from the apartment, her fingers a bit too tight on the wheel, her foot a bit too firm on the gas, propelled by her ashamed rage. The knobs on her spine align perfectly in their tension, rippling up as the rest of her muscles clench similarly. Her mouth tightens around her cigarette, her lungs an unholy bellows nursing her fury, and she exhales a thick cloud of smoke, fogging the windshield. “OK. Honestly, Josh, what do you think?” She glances at him sidelong, her eyes traveling past him a moment later, checking the road before turning. He waits a moment, takes a thoughtful drag in time to her angry one, staring ahead through his exiting cloud of smoke. “Alright. This is what I honestly think—and don’t just dump him cause I said this, ok?” Her head bobs once, glancing at him grimly. “OK, good, I don’t wanna be blamed for you guys breaking up or anything. Not that you will, he’ll say something like ‘I love you honey’ and you’ll go right back to him.” For a moment she is indignant as he watches her, the hair hovering over his eyes to conceal their angle. She opens her mouth, a firm ‘o’ of protest, and then seals itself into a similarly taut line. He glances ahead at the road as she does, and then back to her, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. “For him, everything is perfectly convenient. You come to see him, he plays on his computer, pushes you to see how far it’ll go, and then says or does something so sweet it’s like, contrived, but you always go back to him.” His words echo through the car, their echo like a hollow marble tomb, cold and somber in their seriousness. And her words are similarly empty, lacking in strength or conviction as she defends him. They rarely alter their script, although each one recognizes the bite of truth in his speech.