“If you tell me to drive one more time, I’m going to stick the word down your throat and make you choke on it.”
“It’s best not to linger. My job here is done.”
“What’s your job, Lach?”
“Whatever the boss tells me to do,” he said, “I do.”
“For the dream?”
“For the dream.”
“Walk away from this,” I said. “This isn’t you.”
“Too late,” he said. “The money is too good.”
“Is the money good enough to sell your soul to the devil?”
“Better than a woman.” He chucked his chin toward the windshield. “Go.” Then he turned up a sad love song on the radio and stared out of the window as we drove back to his apartment.