Riley sniffles, turning her attention to the road and away from my questioning glare. And so our trip presses on, leaving our conversation behind.

As we make our way downtown, Riley scrambles to find a different radio station whenever an unfamiliar song starts playing. I ask her about some of the newer cars on the road and her lies just keep stacking — she’s not a car person, says the woman whose first date was helping her crush with an oil change.