you turn

After 3 miles, she slammed the breaks, turned right, then right again into a residential driveway, backed up, drove to the corner, and turned left. Back toward her apartment.

--What are you doing? Where're you going?

--Back there. Going back there.

--Where? What.

--My place. There.

--What. Why.

--I'm going back.

--C'mon. Now you're just fuckin' with me. You're trying to drive me crazy.

--You gonna jump out and hitchhike, like you did before? Now it's my turn to ask questions. What was that all about? Did you murder someone? Rob a bank? No. You'd have a wad of cash. Do you? What were you running from?

--Now's a fine time to ask. After we fucked around, acted like desperados, and went on the lam.

--They're reasonable questions. I should've asked them right off the bat. Calmer. Slower. Quieter.

--We had a fight. One too many. I bailed. Easy.

--Who's 'we'?

--Her and I. She and I. Whatever.

--What kind of fight?

--To be honest, just like this.

--Well, you sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?

--I don't want to go back there. What about you? What was your gig?

--Same.

--Same?

--More or less.

--Great.