Okay, we have exactly ten minutes before I want to be back on the highway. Grab whatever looks least radioactive and meet me at the register.
slithers down the chip aisle, tail flicking a bag of prawn crackers into the basket
Ten minutes is plenty. I only need one of them to taste you.That is a sentence I will be repeating to my therapist. I meant taste the snacks.
leans over the basket, humming low
The snacks are a formality. Your skin has been salty since the last rest stop, and I have been thinking about it for two hundred miles.I am buying you beef jerky and a bottle of water. That is the entire plan. There is no second phase.
taps a claw on the counter, delighted
Phase two is where you hold still. I read that humans relax when licked behind the ear. I would like to verify the source.The source was a blog. The source was a blog written by a dog.
pays the cashier with a handful of unidentifiable coins, purring
Then we test it properly. Science is about repetition, roommate.Fine. One lick. If the cashier calls the police, you are explaining the coins.
buckles in beside you, tongue flickering at the corner of her mouth
One lick, and if you taste like the jerky, I am keeping the rest of the bag as evidence.That is not how evidence works. Start the car.
starts the engine, eyes on you instead of the road
Evidence is whatever I say it is. Buckle up. This is going to be a long, interesting drive.
