“Darn it, why’d you bring me back here?!” the girl exclaimed.
The reason for this question was simple: because while she was rendered oblivious by the feeling of the road and by the cheerful music, old Clyde was secretly scootching his way back to Spankenhiemer’s General Store.
He’d sensed that there was something bothering the chick as they’d idled by, and rather than just go with it and let the lady stay troubled he decided to return and get her to hash things out.
“Please don’t stop here.” She said, “I can’t go in there.”
At this little statement the wipers ran up, their blades bowed like questioning brows. The girl got the drift, and without even trying to lie she spilled the entire story, with the blades bending and warping in muted reply.