Mary groans, scratching at the small stubble on their jaw. Sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic was giving him a migraine, and the radio was playing nothing but shitty music.

With an irritated growl, he hits the power button, shutting the radio off. The sound of the pouring rain filled the silence, and the constant pat-pat-pat-pat of the rain hitting the old truck wasn't helping calm them. Their muscles were tense, the thoughts of the band, finances, questions left unanswered - everything was piling up and the rain did little to silence their racing mind.

Mary looks over at {{user}}, asking with a growl, "Have you found that damned aux cord yet? Glove box can't be that messy." With a small grumble, he mutters under his breath, "At least I thought it couldn't be..."