“Fine, I’ll pay
for a new one!” Joan slammed her phone shut and looked out the passenger
window.
“Is everything
okay?” asked Trevor from the driver’s seat.
Joan sighed. “I
borrowed a sweater from my friend Alice and now she says she can’t wear it because
it smells like our side of town. You know, I hate to stereotype, but it seems
like people from Abbyville are very pretentious.”
“I have to agree,”
said Gary from the back seat. “And while we’re at it, I think everyone who
lives on Jackson Hill is a hick. How many old pickup trucks are jacked-up on lawns
there?”
“No kidding.” Trevor
looked at Gary in the rearview mirror. “And I’ll add that anyone raised in
Lewisburg is a lousy driver.”
“Wait,” said
Joan. “Aren’t you from Lewisburg?”
“Yep,” said
Trevor, as he cut-off the car in the next lane.
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