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Jarod’s sole purpose in life, you’ve decided, is to torment you.


Your first car (you’d always thought that one had the comfiest seats) you could put up with. It was when it actually turned into domestic routine that it began to piss you off – the model he filled completely with Twinkie cream, for example, had been a bitch to clean. Using another for rocket science experiments had been both frustrating and mildly humiliating when it came to tracking down the stray vehicle. But this time, the lab rat’s taken it too far.


You’ve already smashed the radio in; you grew agitated once the player got down to seventy eight bottles of beer and the stop button still wasn’t working. You’re not really going to get anywhere on a tank of kool-aid and you’ve yet to work up the courage to determine the source of that odor that appears to be coming from the back seat.


This particular business trip hasn’t gone to plan, and somehow, you can’t even find solace in the fact that it’s confirmation that the runaway pretender is obviously nearby. All you care about at the moment is getting as far away from here as possible.


You doubt you’ll be hitchhiking – your sister would go to town on that one.


“Don’t tell me Thumbelina here actually managed to wangle a ride. What did you do, bat your eyelids at the garbage man?”


Public transport is below you and besides, there’s no line that runs straight to Hell, stopping all stations.


Yes, you muse. Bicycles are looking better and better every day.









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