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My sister walked into the café like she owned the place. It was the usual dinner crowd—a mix of salad and pizza, birthday and pleasure, plus the three of us. He carried his hockey stick back to the car and climbed in to the car, in the hopes of skipping the party altogether. He finished half a pepperoni and cheese pizza and downed about the same amount of milk. When our table became the loudest, Max and I agreed it was time to leave. I carried the bill over to the cashier near the counter, he ran to the car, past the woman slicing a loaf of bread on our way out. I caught him just in time, right before he planned to take full rein of the ride to hockey.
