I had taken Vicki to the underground movie house once before, it really wasn’t much her style, she liked going to the cineplex to see a romantic comedy with some overpaid actress with hair extensions. I got a kick out of vintage sci-fi movies with low budget effects and horror movies with plastic knives and ketchup.

“Okay, hand me the tacos,” I ushered as we got out of the car, “Did you remember to get the extra spicy hot sauce?”

“If I forgot you’d probably kill me,” Vicki laughed, handing over the large, grease-stained bag from El Burro.

“Why did we park so far away?” She asked.

“If anyone saw me getting out of a nice car like yours, my whole cool factor would be blown,” I said rolling my eyes dramatically, “In fact, here, wear this.” I dug through my bag, pulling out a vintage Cyndi Lauper concert tshirt and throwing it at her. She held it up to her cautiously.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“Luke might consider throwing you out if you come in dressed like Malibu Barbie, grunge up,” I said.