[kavinsky sounds both doubtful and unconcerned.] If you say so, man. You sound like a match made in a whitebread dom dungeon, [he laughs. it occurs to him that not even a full-on vampire could hurt him these days. if he thinks about it much longer, he's going to want to hire a vampire to try it out on, so.

focusing. he zips between lanes, roving over toward a mall in the distance. the seven-tier parking lot structure behind it, the concrete glinting grey in the floridian sunshine. he pulls toward it, ignoring an angry burst of a horn behind them. he adds,] Changed my mind. Your old man sounds like a royal cunt. [his voice is light.

and perhaps disappointingly now, he's pulling onto the car park ramp. shadow lips over the roof, darkening the windows.]