Henry's wrist rested easily against the steering wheel, the night still and chirping with cicadas. It was a warm June Friday night, exuding drunk college kids and rowdy parties. The officers had been at it all night, answering noise complaints and letting kids off with a warning. Henry clocked out in a half hour, on his way home. The road he was on was generally quiet, dipping into the more suburban part of the neighborhood. He was eager to get home and crack open a case of beer and fall asleep watching a crappy movie on the couch in his messy uniform. Suddenly, a car rushed past him, speeding through Henry's peripheral vision, and he let out a groan. He wasn't in the mood for another intervention with a car full of drunk kids, but what choice did he have? He signaled for the car to pull over and watched as it rolled to a stop.

Henry climbed out of his car, gun strapped to his hip as he hooked his thumbs into his belt pocked and knocked on the window of the car with his knuckles, expecting a drunk couple on each other's laps or a group of high school kids with alcohol bottles on the dash. When the window rolled down, though, Henry's mouth almost fell agape.

A young girl sat in the driver's seat, small against the large material of her car, hair falling down her back in small ringlets. She was an angel bathed in moonlight, lips rounded and eyes wide as her tiny hands sat on the steering wheel, dainty and delicate. This girl was incapable of speeding, of doing anything bad, Henry almost tried to convince himself he hadn't seen it at all. Her long eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, her cheeks flushed pink, wearing only a lacy dress as a tiny silver cross necklace hung down between her breasts.

Henry paused, almost forgetting his authority, but he collected himself. "You wanna tell me where you're comin' from tonight, ma'am?" He said gruffly, trying not to bundle her up in a blanket and tell her she didn't do anything wrong.