“Dude! Where did you learn to drive? The demolition derby?” Dylan asked from the passenger seat of Mitch’s truck.
“He’s always driven like this. That’s why I volunteered to take the back seat, where I have more places to hold on. Mitch, how many trucks did you total in high school?” Jimmy asked as he held tightly to the handle above the back door, as Mitch swerved his way around debris at a high rate of speed.
“I don’t know. Let me think,” Mitch mumbled, counting on his fingers as he drove. He replied, “Seven. Eight, if you want to count when that gravel truck hit me when I was stopped at the stop sign, but that one wasn’t my fault. You can ask the cops.”
“Dude! Why didn’t you tell us that before we got in the truck with you?” Easton asked, his voice going up by at least one octave as h
