[ Such manners, goodness. Reggie slides into the car, sitting back in the seat and propping his feet up on the dash like an asshole, especially considering how much he hated when people would do that shit in his car. But, hey; who is he if not someone who holds himself to a different standard than everyone else?

Though the AC's on, Reggie also proceeds to shrug his leather jacket off, because outside the convention center in the light of day it's hot as hell. ]

Eh. Yeah, I guess I can see that, but being here driving last year's cars has still got to be a step-up from wherever else we could be. All in all, this place at least comes with perks.

[ Since the alternatives include things like zombie apocalypses, which Reggie personally wants no further part of. No thank you. Even the subject of cars is a little iffy because Reggie can't help but keep remembering that one stupid night, that stupid reckless swerve of the wheel that led him to hit and kill Hot Dog, but it's much more easily faked than being anxious about going home would be. ]

Sure, I know cars. I used to get a new one practically every birthday. [ In case there was any doubt about that high standard of living he says he's used to. ] Never did any racing with them, though -- my dad probably would've broken my legs if I ever did something like crash and drove up his insurance premiums.

[ But he shrugs, waving that off. ]

No big loss, wasn't much of a dragging scene where I'm from anyway. Plenty of other kinds of fun you can have in them, though.