I smiled ear to ear. She reached over, not wearing a seatbelt of course, and touched my lip rings. “Did it hurt?” she asked innocently.

“When I fell from heaven?,” I stroked my chin playfully, “Naw.”

She smacked me and complained, “You know what I mean.”

My tongue pulled at the little hoops. “Eh, yea, to be honest it was a bitch.”

Cyyn, grinning, kicked her feet, now sheathed in little beaded moccasins, upon my dashboard.

Hesitantly, she lifted her shirt to show her nonexistant stomach. “This one hurt more, bet you with every penny in my pocket.”

I turned the music up, then said, “Well, how many pennies do you have?”

She threw her hand out the window, letting the easy breeze play with the spaces between her fingers.

“Cyyn, what are you hungry for?” I was scared she wasn’t eating.

“I want some fucking lasagna.” Her fragile lips turned down and I held her hand; letting my fingers fill the spaces between hers that the wind could not.

I had the sudden itch for some cannibis.