Page 3 of No Cap

“That’s why I still have this car,” I pointed out.

I’d been working at Dallas Memorial as a radiation technician for two years now. Yet, I still had the same shitbox I’d had since high school because it was easier to have something you didn’t give a shit about in the streets of downtown Dallas than a nicer vehicle that might catch the eye of the thieves who walked the streets.

“You have this car because you’re a cheap bitch,” Keda disagreed. “But I’ll forgive you for lying to me.”

I flashed her a grin as I put it in reverse and started to back out.

I ran over the curb, causing her to jolt sideways.

Keda, used to my driving, didn’t comment.

So, I sucked at driving.

That was a fault.

But I got myself from point A to point B fairly easily.

Could it be smoother? Sure. Could I drive on 635 or I-30 a bit more cautiously? Obviously.

That didn’t change the fact that I didn’t and wouldn’t.

You had to drive defensively in Dallas, or you would get your head ripped off. So, I’d adapted.

“Can you unwrap my Nutrageous for me?” I asked as I pulled onto the feeder road that would lead me to the bane of my existence—I-35.

It never failed. Every time I got on that stupid road, the damn thing was backed up.

Today was no different.

The moment I merged on, I groaned.

The only things I could see for miles in the distance were brake lights.

“Why do you hate this road so much?” she asked as she unwrapped my Nutrageous halfway and handed it to me.

I took a big bite, very aware of the chocolate that had just fallen into my lap from the candy bar, and hit my brakes hard when a man in a white SUV swooped into my lane.

Flipping him off, I moved to the fast lane and kept my finger high as I kept moving past him.

That’s when I noticed the DPD sticker on the side door.

Whoops.

“You’re nuts.” Keda sighed. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t pull you over.”

“He won’t,” I said. “Freedom of speech and all that jazz.”

“Oh, whatever.” She laughed as I continued to maneuver through traffic. “Are you excited?”

I all but bounced in my seat as I took the exit for the stadium. “I’m ecstatic.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were showing our tickets at the door.

When we got inside, a helpful woman showed us to our seats—VIP tickets were the freakin’ best!—and we waited.

The arena slowly filled up all around us, people from all walks of life, some dressed up, some not so dressed up, finding their seats and talking loudly.

We weren’t the only ones excited.