Page 58 of Her Sloth

She is at the exit first.

But I ain’t letting her win this one.

She shoots onto 58th, and I am right behind her. I wonder which way she’ll choose. I am local, racing those streets for my entire life. She is used to Los Angeles. New York is different.

There are essentially two main routes. FDR Drive, or the objectively longer route via LaGuardia. They both have their perks, depending on the time; they can make you stuck either way.

She, however, doesn’t take either of the main routes, clever girl. We drift and speed around corners, take FDR for just a moment when the road ahead was blocked, and it’s a close call for her when she decides to rip the Eleanor off FDR and exits right to follow the Brooklyn Bridge route.

A wise choice, because the tunnel at daylight wouldn’t do any good.

I follow her. We drift around the corner leading us up onto the Brooklyn Bridge in complete symbiosis. It brings me immense joy to race with someone who knows her way with cars.

From the Brooklyn Bridge home will be what decides. And I am pretty sure she will fuck it up because the one-way streets of Red Hook are a pain in the ass to figure out.

Although she is intelligent. Even cunning because she lets me get ahead, on purpose.

I shake my head, a grin on my face.

“Watch me,” I tell her without her hearing it. Because this here is my home. I know every inch of road here.

I pretend I’d take the exit for Hicks Street, but I don’t. Because Hicks sucks. Instead, I rip up the racing handbrake, spin my girl 180 degrees, shoot back from where I came from, and turn immediately left into Henry Street. It’s a tad longer, but less frequented and no speed bumps.

I just need Hicks for two blocks—and when I speed on it, I can see she’s stuck way behind me. People notoriously drive very slow over the bumps.

I smirk to myself as I turn into Sackett Street and onto Van Brunt Street afterward.

From here it’s just one long straight until Reed Street.

Because she is so far behind, I take the official way with the detour over Beard Street into Reed, because Reed Street is technically a one-way, not that any of us would care about in cases like this.

I am turning into Reed, and I cannot believe my eyes, because Addy shoots around the corner into the wrong side of the one-way, slightly overdoing it, the Eleanor turns⁠—

And instead of crashing into the fucking fence, she catches her and races in reverse towards the driveway.

I am too flabbergasted to react in time, and when I reach the entrance, she slips in with a drift and shoots up the driveway. In reverse gear.

Fuck me, what a move.

Am I impressed? Yes.

Am I mad beyond? Double yes. So naturally, when my girl comes to a halt with screeching tires, I jump out, rounding on her.

“You are fucking insane!” I shout at her as she gets out of the Eleanor, grinning proudly. A proudness I want to hit out of her face.

“Love to be,” she says carelessly as I bump into her.

“You know no bounds,” I say. “Reckless fucking idiot!”

“Calculated risk-taking,” she says. “Counted on your inflated ego.”

“FUCK YOU!” I shout, and suddenly everything that happened before regurgitates. “You and your fucking arrogance! Who do you think you are? Come here and break all the rules and walk around fucking naked in front of me and you⁠—“

She built herself up in front of me, her head tilted. Her chest pressing into mine. A self-sufficient grin on her face.

“Me what?” she asks me from above

“You elitist, arrogant, entitled⁠—“