Are We There Yet?
By Spectral Scribe
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Dean popped his lips.
Sam grunted, shifting his book over his furrowed brow. A lovely view of endless yellow fields of nothingness rolled by. Two cows. A bale of hay. A winding country road.
John drove in silence; Dean popped his lips.
Groaning throatily, Sam smacked his book against the back of the front seat and shouted, "I'm trying to read!" Raising his eyebrows as if to ask what had crawled up Sam's ass and died, Dean returned to the window as Sammy calmed and returned to his book.
One cloud. Lots of corn. A silo.
Dean popped his lips.
