like hauling dynamite

Tilted at 45° leaning in to the radio, your head moving back and forth as though watching a tennis match.
Phone up to ear, gesturing with the other hand off the steering wheel as you obliviously chatter away, 10 below the speed limit. You stopped at a green light, pal. Two deep dents in your trunk lid, scratches on your bumper.
You're a pro, heh?

I let up on the gas, fading back, and hold my breath waiting for the blast.