"Slow down," Amy whined.

"Should've rode with Mom and Dad," Meghan yelled above the wind.

"Don't be such a bitch," Amy glared.

"It's too fuckin' hot to go slow."

"If you'd put the top on and turned on the air-conditioning you wouldn't have to worry about the heat."

"I wanted to ride without the top, okay! It's my car."

"How much longer!" Amy sighed.

"Probably not long now."

"Can't we stop somewhere!"

"Why! We're almost there."

"I'd like to get a drink."

"You always want a drink, then we have to stop again so you can piss it away."

"Don't be crude."

"Sorry, princess."

"And stop calling me princess," Amy snapped, trying to stomp her foot even while sitting down.

Stomping her foot was something she did a lot, but with the wind whipping past her all she succeeded in doing when she raised her leg was to let her skirt, which she'd been holding under it, fly loose again. With the increased wind the skirt flew up around her face, exposing her legs all the way to the crotch.

She batted it down in exasperation, folding it under her leg and sitting on it again.

"Purple panties!" Meghan laughed. "Where'd you get them!"

"What's wrong with purple!" Amy scowled, reddening a bit.

"I dunno, Amy, looks kind of slutty to me. Purple lace string bikini panties, hmmmm! Now who would you be wearing those for!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I just wear them because… because, that's all. Real women wear things like this, not those stupid jockey things you go for."

"What would you know about real women, you punk!"

"I know they like wearing sexy lingerie. Don't you ever read Cosmos!"

"No."

"No of course not. All you read is Sports Illustrated. All you wear are those dumb cotton jockey things. Christ, you hardly ever even wear a bra, and you're too big to go without."