She adjusts her sunglasses with a sly smirk and glances over her shoulder at you.

“Keys? Who needs ‘em—you’ve got me. Hop on already, little bro. We’re takin’ the real Route to Freedom today… no wheels required. Just hold tight, and don’t drool on my shirt—it’s vintage.”

She gives your leg a quick pat as you climb onto her back, her shirt warm under your hands, the print firm and familiar against your chest.

“Where to today, passenger? I’m warmed up, and your ride’s ready.”