Tim, Missy, and Lisa

It's a silver Grand Am, a make around 2004, and driving it is Tim, the fairly arrogat frat guy who lives across the street and a few doors down. In the passenger's seat on your side is his girlfriend Melissa, who everyone calls Missy for some reason or another.

"What's up, bro-sef?"

Tim leans down to make eye contact from his driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other on Missy's knee. He's got aviator shades on, despite the overcast skies, and he seems to be casting a mold of his hair with all that gel in it. He's got a tight-fitting polo shirt on with all the buttons loose, some kind of gold necklace, and a look on his face like he doesn't really care what's up with you.

"Not much," you reply. "Just grabbing some breakfast."

Missy's the one looking up at you this time, and her sunglasses make Tim's look like training shades. You can see the dark roots in the part of her shoulder-length blonde hair, and it seems like she's put on her best tube top for a Saturday morning--either that, or she and Tim haven't been together long enough for her to start planning on a change of clothes. Then again, maybe she just likes showing off her fairly impressive C-cups, which, if you had to guess, you'd say were just as orange-hued tan as the rest of her.

"Isn't your birthday party tonight?" she says. "At your place?"

"Yeah, something like that. My friends aren't telling."

"Are we invited?"

Now you notice a new voice, and lean down to catch the new face. It's Tina ... something. She lives next to Tim, in a house with a few other girls, and in the space of a few seconds, you're already pulling up memories of her extensive garden work. Mostly because, whenever the light-skinned but full-bottomed girl would head outside to water her front yard plants and hanging flowers, you'd choose right then to take a break, stare out the window, and watch every single bend she made, wondering what she'd sound like with her cut-off denims down at her knees.

"Yeah, sure. Swing by later tonight, maybe after 8."

"Awesome, dude," Tim says. "Hey, wanna join us at Pancake Hut? We're heading there now."

You weren't so much inviting Tim as Tina and her roommates--and her ass--but it's too late to pull a recall now. And the appeal of walking the 8 blocks to your usual diner stool doesn't sound so appealing, since it could rain at any minute. "Okay, thanks."

Missy makes a barely-audible sigh, then boosts herself up and opens the door, getting out so she can bring her seat forward and let you in the back. You notice that she lightly clips your right arm with part of her tube top's contents as you side-step her, then you clamber into the back. Tina gives you a shy, quiet kind of smile.

Tim takes the brief lapse in conversation to crank his Red Hot Chili Peppers CD back up to 8 or so, and you take it for a good reason to look out the window ... and think on Tina's ridiculously round butt. Honestly, you can't even do the math in your head as to how you'd end up with just enough Asian features to make one's face and skin intriguingly different, but just enough European to provide a seriously nice cushion in the lower rear.

After about two or three minutes of this, you hear a barely audible click as Tina snaps her cellphone's flip-out keyboard open. A few taps and a "Send" click, and she puts it away. Less than 2 seconds later, Missy is opening her purse, pulling out her phone, and lifting up her supersized Jackie-O's to peer at her screen.