It was not a conversation.
It was two messages and a dog with questionable standards.
It still felt like oxygen.
Rachel lifted my suitcase into the trunk of the waiting car.
“Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
I got in.
She slid into the seat beside me.
“What did Ellie say?”
“Captain Pancake is concerned about my judgment.”
“Captain Pancake and I finally agree on something.”
“You sat on him.”
“He sat on me.”
“It was emotional dominance.”
Rachel looked out the window.
“I miss when your crises involved mechanical bulls.”
“That video does not exist.”
“Sophie has three copies.”
Nashville appeared gradually beyond the glass.
Traffic.
Billboards.
A radio tower.
A giant image of my own face advertising the final dates of the tour.
I looked away before the car passed it.
Rachel noticed.
“You do know you’re famous.”
“Recent evidence suggests that.”
“You’ve never had a problem with the billboard.”
“I’m wearing too much eye makeup.”
“You approved that photograph.”
