System
My gut almost lurched from their rough maneuvering of wheels. Secret Service is what they are. Veterans for car racing and criminal tracking. But I'm sure driving trucks is not one of their turf.
The driver is already having a hard time trying to whirl the truck from left to further left then sharp right turn at the next corner.
Cars honking and drivers swearing "m*therf*ckers" are his greatest obstacle. Thrice he bump private cars already. Not stopping to apologize at any of them.
Dawson shouted "Move!" for, from what I recall, twenty times but he only got "Die you b*tch!" in response from other drivers.
Last attempt, he lift his hands in the air to shoo one car away from us, it didn't work. He almost have a chocolate shake splashed on his face if I hadn't pulled him away.
"It's useless. Don't waste your energy Dawson." I said. He open his mouth to protest but think better of it.
After one moment of juddering and bumpy ride silence he asked,