Boom! Crack! Screeeeech! We were driving like we were competing in a Nascar race.
I looked over and said, “Well damn, if I ever get a flat tire what am I going to use?”
The day wasn’t supposed to end like that. We were enjoying Sunday Funday. Our normal brunch at Grand Lux, bar hopping, and great weather. Somehow it ended with a potential class A misdemeanor.
She pointed, “It’s on this street.”
I made a sharp left.
She gazed down the street. “Wait. Is that it?”
I looked at the house. “Hell, if I know. Is it?”
She looked again, “Nah, it’s the next street.”
“Look now, this is why you can’t be trusted. You don’t even know his house. I peeled off so we could go to the next street. “How you don’t even know where he lives?”
“I do, but look around these houses all look the same.”
I looked around and they kind of did.
She pointed towards the end of the street. “That’s it. That’s his car. He lied. He said he wasn’t home.”
I was short and blunt. “Okay. He lied. Leave him alone. We’re leaving.”
“No! Eff him!”
I threw my hands up, “See, this is why I didn’t want to come with you.”
She calmly said, “I’m just gonna slash his tires.”
“You don’t understand. He stays lying.”
“Girl, it’s nothing to slash it with anyway. You should plan these types of events. We need to be in all black or something. And we should be doing this at night, not when the sun is still up.”
“Pop the trunk.” She got out and after a few moments she said, “Come here.” She was holding a jack.
I rolled my eyes. “Why are you doing with that?”
“He’s a liar.” She shoved the jack in my hand.
“Come on…” She pushed it back towards me.
“How you wanna pull up, but don’t wanna do the dirty work?” I shoved it back to her.
We looked around the street and realized if we continue to argue he would probably come out or somebody would overhear our vandalism plot.
Both of our hands were on the jack. “Eff it!”
The jack went flying like a football spiraling to a receiver on Sunday Night Football. BOOM! CRACK!
We sped off like Thelma and Louis and secretly praying nobody saw us. A few minutes later we were sitting at a bar a couple of streets down from the guy’s house.
My adrenaline was still rushing. “You think he’s gonna blame you?”
“She took her Lemon Drop shot. “Nah, he got too many hoes. He’s not gonna know who did it.”
…and she was right. He still hasn’t mentioned the windshield to her.