"Hi Rilly."
"Helloooo, Bunny! Get in dee car dis instant! Hurry Bunny, hurry!"

We sped off again, before I could shut the passenger side door, put my (oh so necessary) seat belt on and settle in. I turned down the ass rap to an acceptable level. The center console of the Impala he's rented held a copy of a book about Ghengis Khan. A black rollerball pen marked his progress in reading it, and as I flipped through the pages, I noticed several underlined passages and phrases. Most of them were about subjugating the masses.

"It good book, Bunny. Where is In-N-Out? I want a double double wif cheese, disin instant! When I am rich and famous I will put an In-N-Out in my back yard."

I tell Tucker to make a right hand turn, but he never learned left and right in school. He will likely run the entertainment industry some day, but will not know which shoe is the left one. He will probably circumvent this issue by hiring a right/left savvy midget to follow him around and point him in the correct direction at all times, and this midget will have to be male, or it will end up pregnant.

Tucker makes a U-turn in the middle of a rather busy street, forcing four cars to halt for him, and when confronted with the fact via horns that he's inconvenienced many drivers, he says "OUT OF MY WAY!" He then makes the correct turn, the one he missed because he doesn't have a midget yet, and speeds off in the direction of the Burbank In-N-Out. The light ahead turns yellow, then red, and when he speeds through it successfully, I breathe an anxious sigh (we are doing 60 in a school zone). Tucker says "Yaaaayyy! I am dee bestest EVER!"

At In-N-Out we sit at a table and wait for #67 to be called. Tucker fidgets and thumbs the slip of paper claiming order 67 as ours while I talk about tits and how wonderful they are. When 67 is called, he sprints to the counter to collect. He returns with a tray, his mouth plugged with strips Kennebec potato. The race is on to shove the double double down his gullet the way tornadoes pick up barns, quickly, and with great sloppiness, washing it down with massive gulps of diet coke, his hands coating the paper cup we share with grease. There is a piece of sauce covered cheese caught in the corner of his mouth.

I am less than halfway done with my burger when Tucker gets up from the table and says "Come on, Bunny! Let's go!" He bursts out the door into the parking lot. The door closes on a mother of three and her offspring. I see his blonde head a hundred yards away. It disappears beneath the roof of the rental car.

He's a force of nature, that boy.