Trista slipped out from under me when we got closer to a fucking pumpkin colored truck. I about threw up when she opened the back door. “The fuck is that? Where’s Seph?” “Jersey, please. Just get in. We can’t stop right now,” she begged. “Get in that Tonka toy? No, thank you. I’ll walk.” “Back to Indiana? You have nail holes in your fucking feet. Get. In. The. Truck.” “Where’s Seph, Triss?” I tried again.
