"Well we know where we're goin' but we don't know, where we been."
"And we knooow what we're knowin' but we can't say, what we seeeeen."
"Oh my God! Stooop! You sound like a cat in a garbage disposal."
"You don't like my singin', Delilah? You're such a shitty girlfriend."
"I ain't a shitty girlfriend. You're a tone-deaf asshole. And I have no patience left."
Delilah tugged at the man's nondescript white dress shirt. It was a half-hearted yank that caused the top portion of his torso to twist in the leather seat.
"You ain't got patience? How'd you think I feel, eh? I have to do all the heavy lifting."
"Don't pull that shit with me. You don't let me do anything. Sometimes you treat me like all I am is arm candy. It's the 20th Century! I can do things!"
"Yea, sistas are doin' it for themselves," Joey mumbled. He braced himself against the brown Volvo's rear bumper. A rogue strand of hair swung down from its rightful place and clung territorially to his forehead. He angled his head, attempting to brush it back with his forearm, hands firmly placed on the vehicle.
"Aw, lemme get that, sweetie." Delilah picked her way over to him, steps light and quick, but infuriatingly deliberate. She walked on the balls of her feet, even in Keds. Her calves were perpetually tensed, arches always pronounced. Like a dancer.
Her clammy fingertips swept the sticky, over-gelled spike back up, grooming it with a satisfied grin. It was dark out. Lightening bugs popped in and out of sight like supernovas, but Delilah's jade-green eyes remained hidden behind sunglasses. The thick red frames were plastic and chintzy. They were shaped like hearts.
She pressed her bubblegum lips to his forehead and Joey breathed her in. "You smell like Skittles," he murmured, mouth watering.
Delilah giggled, high and frantic, face still inches away from his. "Thank you, baby. My mom got me this body spray at the Target. Rad, huh?"
"Yea, it's nice. Smells hot."
She giggled again, leaning lightly on the car, twirling the end of her ponytail between polished fingers. "Wan' me to help ya?"
"Help me push a car? I don't think so. Go file your nails or something."
"Uh!" she exhaled violently, spinning on her heel and stomping off toward the driver's side door. "Women's Lib, Joey!" she hollered over her shoulder. "We're free or whatever... so don't be so mean to me." The last part was whined past a down-turned lip. "Want me to help you steer?"
"No, Delilah. I want you to shut up while I do this!" He leaned forward, palms flat and teeth clenched. Thick ropey veins bloomed across his skin like worms burrowing to the surface after rain.
Delilah watched him strain and groan, eyes burning like hot embers behind her dark lenses. She pulled a cigarette from the pocket of her skirt. It hung from her lips loosely, clinging to the dry skin as it sagged toward the ground. She didn't light it.
"Hey! Can I turn on the radio or sumpin'? You got that fucking song stuck in my head." She glanced at the front seat as if just remembering some abandoned trinket. Her mouth curled into a sneer, the butt hanging on by sheer luck and a thin thread of spit. "Never mind," she grumbled, digging a hot pink lighter out of her back pocket.
Joey let out a long lion's roar of a laugh that echoed off the redwoods jutting up around them. Delilah shivered.
"Want me to sing to you, D? I know how much you love it." He howled again, doubling over at his own hilarity.