I climb over Riley and toward the driver’s side window, “You’re the guy with the mustache comb and…and — nnghhh — why does it hurt when I think about it?”

“Oh! Hello again, young lady. We don’t get too many repeat visitors—”

“—We’re not ladies — ngghh — I mean she is, but I’m not. And what do you people do in here anyway?”

Despite Riley’s protests of “don’t tell her anything!” and “stop squishing my tits!” — I keep prodding for answers, moments from lifting my hoodie to ask if he knows why I woke up with a pair of my own.” But she manages to push me back before I get the chance.