Lamb’s boyfriend climbed back into the front seat.
“Turn the light on,” she said, while he fiddled with the radio. She kicked the back of his chair and he turned around, telling her to watch the leather. She repeated herself. Once the overhead light came on, she found her underwear and pulled them up. Then she slid out, walked around the car, wide legged, a little sore, something wet on her thigh, and sat on the hood.
Her boyfriend honked, but she ignored him.
She closed one eye, and moved her cigarette against the sky, pretending it was a comet.