Shauna, who was fucking Danny, who mistakenly thought he was the only one fucking Sharon, wanted a car. So Danny, who had passed exactly enough classes to think he knew how the world worked, but not so many as to realize he didn’t, promised to steal one from Sharon. Michael, who was decidedly not Danny and yet fucking Sharon all the same, took his lunch break at a time of day typically devoid of boyfriends.

Had Danny touched the green wire to the yellow one before the red light at Maple and 3rd turned to green, he might’ve had enough time to clear the driveway without Michael spotting an unfamiliar man in a too-familiar car.

But why complicate a simple story with needless conjecture?

Jealousy is an inconvenient emotion at forty-five miles per hour, and so here’s Sharon, crying onto the asphalt, praying for god to leave her at least one man. And here’s Shauna, bumming a ride to the second half of a split double shift, wondering if she’ll ever meet a man who is as good as his word.