Suzanne sat next to Lance as he read aloud the fast food restaurants down the freeway. Jack-n-the-Box, McDonald's, Burger King. He'd told her he wasn't hungry, that it was just a game he used to play with his mother in the car. "I'll pay $800.00, but don't let me go over that, okay?" He'd seen the ad for the truck in a newspaper left on the table at Woodrow's the week before. They'd shared a grilled cheese sandwich and crinkle-cut fries while laughing at how many used red Mazda Protégé's were for sale. It was Suzanne who noticed the truck in the paper, the title: All The Ice Cream You Want, not really. Lance stopped laughing and reread the ad to himself. He'd asked her if she thought it was carpeted. "If it's got that green grass stuff, I'm in," he said. "The windows remind me of buses. And that grass crap feels like plastic," said Suzanne. But Lance smiled and pretended to turn the steering wheel around with a knob on it. "That'd be the clincher. One of those knobs like a door handle on the wheel. Get us where we're going, huh?" Suzanne clenched her teeth, "Open doors for us, right?" She squeezed his knee, pressing his leg down causing the car to speed up. "Open something I hope," Lance said, rolling down his window to spit a sunflower seed out.