I steered Sally back onto I-5 North and found a little café about forty-five minutes later. They had great coffee and every kind of grilled cheese you could want. We stood at the counter and I ordered mine with bacon and tomatoes while Landry chose sautéed onions. “You seriously ordered onions?” I said. “That’s not nice to me. Or Sally.” Landry huffed. “My farts smell like roses.” “Rotten roses.” I grumbled. He punched me in the shoulder. “What was that?” I darted my head around and batted my hand in the air. “I think there’s a fly. Did you feel that, Lan?” “Shut up, asshole.” The waitress handed us our plates and we found a corner booth. It was midafternoon, after the lunch rush, so we had the place mostly to ourselves except for two older women in the far corner.
