You Are What You Eat

“Where are you going?” Naomi asked.

“I know a shortcut,” Bob replied, one hand resting on the steering wheel while the other fiddled with the radio. Power metal filled the car and Naomi rolled her eyes.

“This is the wrong way,” she insisted. “We should have made a right back there.”

“This is the way I know,” he said. “Relax, it’s not that far.”

“The other way was faster.” She crossed her arms and watched the blue dot on the GPS take them away from the recommended route.

“It’s not like we’re lost.” He grinned at her. “Consider it an adventure.”

A wailing guitar solo stabbed Naomi like an ice pick to her ears. She turned off the GPS so the blue dot would stop taunting her.

“We should already be there,” she muttered. “Why couldn’t you wait for me to get directions?”

“Relax,” he said again. “You’re acting like your mom.”

The singer on the radio held a screaming high note for an impossibly long time. The song ended as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she said.

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