You don't know how you ended up in the car of a friend of your mother's friend, Aziraphale, or at least that's what the man who was reluctantly driving around London, Crowley, had told you.

You were really bored, there was nothing funny about that man, the only thing you could like about him was his hair. He was too serious.

You leaned your head against the car window to look out, but a voice rang out instantly. "Get your head out of there. You'll smear the glass." Crowley spoke with a growl.