Evening Interlude

According to state-of-the-art analytics and decades of software advancements, my phone calculated that the journey from Amanda's apartment to my home would take somewhere around twenty-five minutes to reach either way. 

Amanda made it to my driveway in less than fifteen. 

Guess there's just no accounting for the indomitable human spirit. 

Hopping in, I couldn't help but notice that my chauffeur looked as if she was being held hostage by some invisible gunman in the backseat with the way she was staring down the road so tentatively. 

"So I decided to make meatloaf," she said. The way she said it too; makes me wonder how long she spent thinking of a good meal for dinner. Too long to be saying it like that if you ask me. "Your mom seems to approve. She sent me a thumbs-up and a bunch of hearts. That's good, right?" 

"Real good," I said. "Best way to your boyfriend's mom's heart as they say. Meatloaf's the way to go."