We were on the road and almost there, but I was getting nervous. If we weren't back in time, I'd have to find some other way to sweet talk my way into being able to submit my resume. It was already late, and I didn't feel like I could afford another day gone by without its residence within The Break Broker Institution. I told August to hit the gas.
"What?" She said. "Faster? We're already going 75 and the speed limit is 55!"
"Faster." I said. "I neeeeed this job. It's the Break Brokers, come on!"
"No way, this highway is always riddled with piggies!"
"I'll show you piggy!"
I extended my leg over the console and jammed my foot onto the gas.
"Gary, stop!"
We went from 75 to 100 miles per hour in no time, and I was pleased with that nice, doubly round number as a maximum.
"Just calm down and steer. I'm not letting go, so you may as well just concentrate on taking half of the initiative to get us home safe."
She glared over to me in admittance of defeat and shifted her head forward into a more focused stance. We must have been driving for a half hour before a policeman pulled over.
"License and registra- AGAHHHGHH"
"Gary, where the hell did that gun come from!? And what the fuck did you just do!?"
"I always keep a six-shooter in my glove box. And honey, that jooooob! What the hell was I supposed to do!?"
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