Kat groaned as she lugged her guitar out to her car. Morning sunlight glinted cheerfully off the rim of the rear tire. It was flat as a pancake, and she had to be at the studio in twenty minutes. Her curses became a rhythmic mantra as she popped the trunk for the jack and spare. Only her second day on the job and she was going to be late. That would not reflect well on her. She was so stressed at the prospect that she had the wheel almost fully jacked up before realizing she’d forgotten to crack the lug nuts loose. “Shit!” she panted and lowered the jack. Hands trembling, it took her a little longer than usual to put on the spare. Though, at least she had a full-size tire instead of those stupid doughnuts that you couldn’t take over twenty five miles an hour. It came in handy as she sped down the Denver streets, eyes darting back and forth from the racing dash clock to the rearview mirror, checking for cops. The last thing she needed was a ticket. Her phone buzzed and chimed the bass line for “Bring out your Dead,”
