Margaret is having one of those moments when she is mentally painting one hell of a picture in which a hard looking white man just stands in the background while Lil Wayne does whatever it is he does. The Carter albums are pretty dope but those were a really, long time ago. What a dated reference. "That is something," she finally says in a slow, voice that is not sure of how else to categorize the idea that a grown ass man is driving a pure white Escalade.

"Thankfully," Margaret begins as she starts toward the car. "I have no dignity, so this isn't so horrific. The worst part is the AM radio, which one could argue is only radio in the technical sense of the word. Though I do appreciate anything that can provide a platform for conspiracy theorists because the truth is out there and will not be repressed." As she walks she unzips her bag and takes out a heavy-ish denim jacket with black leather sleeves. The thrift store find is almost practically covered with carefully stitched runes and protections.