Her coffee runs were notorious. She'd ask the entire office for their orders, grab her bag and keys and twice-check the pink of her lips in my mirror, and then she was off in a jingle and jangle of prayer beads wrapped around her ankles. She always said she needed the extra faith down low the most due to her six-inch Chloes.
We wouldn't see her for three days, at least. Good thing her dad owned the company.
Her sense of direction wasn't the greatest; she honestly rode those adventures with only a vintage globe to guide her, gifted by her great-grandfather. Most of Canada was faded right off, so she never went too far north. And when she was seventeen, she had her heart broken by a boy from New Mexico...which meant that entire state was covered in permanent black marker.
None of that really mattered in the end. Not for her. Because she wasn't afraid to ask for directions, she wasn't afraid of the dark or even directionless mornings, she could talk any policeman or woman out of a ticket, no matter how deserved it was, and she kind of loved getting lost for days.
Also the very reasons every last one of us wanted to be her lover.
Obsessed with this driver...can you imagine the truckers passing this girl?
