He pushed his foot down a little harder, listening to the engine spin faster. The truck kicked scree and dirt behind it, throwing up a cloud dozens of feet high as the two men bounced up and down.

“I’m just gonna fucking marry her, man. I’m just gonna fucking do it. I mean like, white wedding shit, princess shit. Big fucking flowing gown!” John yelled over the tires. The truck bounced off another hill, and martini splashed from John’s thermos onto the windshield. He regarded it.

“Do you mean that? That’s something. I don’t think you mean that,” Chester replied, sipping martini from his own thermos as he steadied the wheel with one hand. “I don’t think I believe you.”

“The fuck I won’t! I’m gonna marry the shit out of her! She’ll be romanced to fuck…as fuck. It’ll be romantic,” John hooted. He popped an olive into his mouth and grinned.

“Fine, I dare you. I dare you to marry her.” Chester couldn’t help grinning too.

The truck went over another hill, and the two men started laughing.