@kas-ottenheimer
It was almost comical how far Kas had slunk into the deep bucket seats of the Mercedes. He had insisted that he didn’t want to be seen, and as the green demon roared through the streets of Hidden Palms and out towards the anonymity of the backroads and farmlands that lead up to the coast, it seemed that there were more and more people interested in peering inside the tinted windows. Chowder, on the other hand, had both paws on the window ledge, floppy ears flying back in the wind that rushed in. Migos blasted from the sound system, and Trev grinned widely as his car expertly ate another sharp turn. They’d been scouting, and had found the perfect spot for a race-- even Ari wouldn’t complain at the deserted mile of straight road, with nothing but fields on either side. Before heading home, they decided the best course of action was to stop for dinner and with directions being shouted at him over the oppressive bass, Trev finally pulled showily into the parking lot where the seafood shack stood. A press of a button quieted the roar of the AMG to a dead still, and he reached over to tap Chowder’s nose before sliding out. “You want a lobster roll, little man?”
