[ wp ] An alternate world where a single , everyday object is instead a living being that fills the same function

Madame Jones produced the small glittering lighter from her clutch and, making a noticeable effort to preserve her nails, flicked the flint and let the cool smoke fill her lungs. `` Well?'' she probed, tapping her fingers on the wheel. `` They're on the way,'' he said humbly, `` maybe 30... 40 minutes.'' She let out a long, pained sigh. The man in the passenger's seat popped a mint between his pink-caterpillar lips and began again to blow, trying in vain to lift the mood. 
 `` Stop it,'' she groaned, `` what's the fucking point. It's hot as tits in this PIECE OF SHIT CAR...'' She paused, wiping the spit from her mouth with her hairy wrists. `` And it will be no matter what.'' Niles withdrew, turning his gaze to the carpet beneath the glove-box, wishing he could crawl down there and be away from her constant, abrasive glare for just a moment. She's not the one wearing a fucking suit, he thought quietly to himself. 
 `` What's that ring?'' `` I... sorry?'' he parried, forgetting the band he had been rubbing. `` What's that ring? I've never seen that ring before.'' `` Oh, you mean... it's just a wedding ring.'' `` A... wedding... ring?'' she smiled. `` You never told me you were married.'' `` I'm not.'' And without fail, like a static windmill, the thoughts escaped from his mind. Thoughts of paychecks, gas prices, and groceries escaped into the Tallahassean humidity and gave way to fragments of a past life, cheap perfume, and an ugly laugh. 
 `` Oh... I see. I'm sorry.'' 
 He shrugged, and wished that people would stop apologizing. The two obligatory words had always meant nothing to him, and even less now. The car, hotter inside than out, stagnated in silence. 
 `` Was she pretty?'' she asked, flicking the thin white butt onto the asphalt. 
 `` Yeah...'' he said, smiling, `` she was alright.'' 

