We got in the car. Apparently, I was the one in charge of driving. We cruised across the working class neighborhood listening to the radio, some old classics. She modeled a pair of sunglasses for herself which I’d never seen before. Probably stolen from the random fuel station where we bought a couple of doughnuts and take-away coffee. An equally stolen red lipstick popped out her pocket to trace her petite silky mouth.
When we got to the place, we both jumped out of the car and entered the sketchy old house in which this so-called Jared was waiting for us. The inside of it was as messy as the outside. His dogs roamed free all over the place. It smelled terrible. The guy shook our hand and then greeted us to his awfully dirty bedroom. Over his bed were some big boxes with crazy stuff like guns, grenades, flamethrowers, bulletproof vests, and other instruments of death. The girl’s eyes lit up and she ran to touch them and enjoy them from close up like a child on Christmas day with their new presents. For a moment I thought I recognized that little fire that made her eyes sparkled when she was happy. It was a weird sensation.