The car stopped. Less of a smooth braking and more a juddering halt. The engine gave off a shower of sparks, and that was that. No more car.

Dave started to muse on the existence of “car”. Now their ride was defunct, was it still a car? Was it the action that gave it meaning, or the idea behind it? Does it now only look like a car but can now, alas, never reach “car-ness” truly?

He rambled with more unhelpful comments for a while. He only stopped when Jessie threatened to plug his mouth with her fist if Dave didn’t SHUT THE HELL UP.

Dave sniffed but did, for the moment, shut the hell up.

Jessie surveyed the problem: the not-a-car, and the reddish dirt that was the only scenery around.

Dave continued to sniff. Jessie ignored it at first, she’d said worse things. Until it got absurd; him sniffing away, her staring at the car. She rounded on him. “You better not be crying, I know you’re not upset.”

Dave looked up from his perch on a rock, eyes dry, still sniffing. “Sorry, it’s my sinuses.”