I'm letting you drive for some reason. I've turned right around in the passengers seat, slung my bare legs across the bench seat, lean against the glove box to better look at you. As the engine splutters I accuse you of not looking after anything properly. You just laugh as you pull onto the longest, widest, emptiest coast road, put your foot right down on the accelerator and your eyes catch mine, wind whipping your dark hair around your face. I grin and nudge you, then let my head fall back onto the dashboard, watching the (two, maybe three) clouds through the windscreen, watching the UV try to get through my sunglasses.