Drive-in Daydreaming

Sandy pulled off the highway somewhere between nowhere and nowhere else, sun still climbing in that desert sky. The little drive-in sat crooked in the dust like it’d been dropped there by accident. Puma came out in shorts so tight they looked painted on, carrying the shake on a tray like it was the answer to prayers nobody bothered saying out loud. Chocolate so thick the straw stood up straight. Whipped cream piled high, one perfect cherry on top, red as sin. Sandy took the first sip slow, let it coat her tongue, sweet and cold and heavy, then set the glass down. She watched the way Puma’s hips moved when she turned to leave, the fabric riding up just enough to show skin. She didn’t want the cherry anymore. She wanted the whole fucking thing.