9
I glanced at Toughs. She met my gaze. “Never fall in love.”
She nodded. “Definitely.”
We walked over to my old beat-up car and slipped inside. Toughs wrinkled her nose at the dingy surroundings as I backed us out onto the street. “This car smells.”
“That’s the smell of journalism,” I told her as we drove down the road.
She sniffed the air. “Journalism smells like a gym locker room.”
I glanced at my short passenger. “Do you even remember what a gym locker room looks like?”
She glared at me. “Of course I do!”
“What about remembering anything important? Have you tried doing that?” I asked her.
Toughs sank down in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. She glared at the glove box. “Of course I’ve tried.”
“And?”
“And I’m just getting bits and pieces, okay?”
I arc
