Just like Mia, her car was a walking contradiction. A peace sign dangled from her rear view; it served as an exclamation point to her bad driving by swinging wildly with every road-rage-induced brake slam. Smoke from yesterday’s hotbox creeped up the window like a permanent fog. However, an expensive, fruity perfume, maybe Chanel, covered any skunk-like odor. Once I cleared the passenger seat of spiritual self-help books and two empty bottles of Jameson, there was practically no foot room to sit. Cupholders were overflowing with the assorted monster energy drinks stuffed with wrappers from single-serve hummus.
Expository Writing 1213-013
