(Ron)
I race my car to the bakery.
Just buy a cake. Just buy a cake and cut part of it and take the rest home. You don’t smell like alcohol anymore. You don’t have to tell them what happened. You can make up a story. You’re an actor. You can lie.
I pull my wallet to pay the cashier. I take my phone out of my pocket. I unlock my phone to check the time when images from last night immediately pop up.
I yell right there in the bakery. I blink a few times as my eyes widen at the screen. I look up and everyone in the room is staring at me.
“Sorry,” I whisper in embarrassment.
The cashier hands me my change. I grab the bag with the cake and head to my car, resting the bag in the seat next to me and flicking my thumb across the screen as I note the images.
-I ran with a
