The 2025 Honda Civic Sport Touring Hybrid—Aegean Blue, maybe the one Raymond sold last week—was stopped. So were the cars ahead of it, presumably. So was Raymond, in his 2015 Xterra Pro-4x, and Alicia, in the passenger seat of his Xterra Pro-4x, a mischievous expression on her face and a hand on his thigh.

Raymond adjusted his glasses and forced his expression into one of abject neutrality. “Allie. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know.” Her tone was devilishly innocent. “What am I doing?”

“Breaking our rules, for one. No distracting the driver when driving. It’s a breach of safety and a disservice to the other patrons of the road.”

“Ray, we’re not moving.”

Gently, Raymond wrapped a hand around Alicia’s wrist. He tried to pull her away, and found he could not.

“Allie.”

“Ray.”

“The Honda Civic Sport Touring Hybrid in front of us is moving. I have to drive. Please let go.”

“Sweetie, I have eyes. We’re still stopped. We’ve been stopped for five minutes. Why can’t we have a little fun? Pretend we’re young again?” She sighed. “And would you stop naming cars by their full trim? Just call it a Civic.”

Raymond frowned. “But it’s not just a Civic.”

“Oh my God, we are not—”

“But it’s not,” Raymond insisted. His hands came up animatedly, relinquishing his grip on his wife’s wrist. “You have to understand, the different trim levels are named to evoke precise emotions within the potential buyer and driver. Nobody’s excited by a Honda Civic. But when you put a Honda Civic Sport Touring Hybrid in front of a handsome, twenty-some-year-old couple with dreams to see the country, they feel marketed towards. They feel listened to.” Cars began to honk behind them. Raymond hardly noticed. “And I think it’s a disservice to the companies that make these vehicles, themselves wonders of modern technology, to exclude the trim when naming the make and model. Furthermore—”

Alicia’s hold on his jeans released, suddenly and annoyed, somehow. Her hand then flashed up, and she flicked Raymond on the nose.

“The Civic’s moving,” she said dryly.

Raymond blinked. So it was. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” She shimmied deeper into the passenger seat, crossing her arms. She sighed. “And way to kill the mood.”

“For the benefit of the road patrons—”

“Sweetie?”

“... Yes dear?”

“Just drive.”