there were plenty of other things john bender could think of to do with his night other than escort a drunken nancy wheeler home. especially after the girl spilled a drink full of red dye number 40 all over his favorite flannel shirt. he’d have to throw it away just to hide it from his parents, and it’s not has if he had an unlimited supply of clothing, nor money to buy more. none of this is said aloud, though, not as he grabbed nancy lightly by the elbow and pulled her towards the old and nearly broken down station wagon parked a block down the street. the short gusts of wind raise goosebumps on bender’s bare arms, but he doesn’t reach for the jean jacket he’s already draped over nancy’s shoulders. he was used to be cold ; they didn’t both need to be. ‘ you’re a sloppy drunk, princess. i expected more from such a pristine girl, ’ john’s voice drips with sarcasm, letting go of nancy’s arm so he could open the door, waiting for her to climb in. ‘ you better remember where you live, wheeler. i’m not drivin’ you around this shithole and playin’ eye spy with rich people houses, ’ @itsbllshit.
