That's why she has decided to just do the damned truthmobile, for once and for all. She's been talking about it for years, hasn't she? Okay, well, she's been thinking about it. Her sister would remember her saying so.
"Who's with me?" she says to her old grey cat, her youngish white cat and her wicked brown puppy. The wicked puppy wags its tail, paws the ground and jumps. The cats play their cards close. “Okay, then,” she says.
She's had a magnetic sign made for the side of her Honda, TRUTHMOBILE, simple and elegant. Maybe too simple; she's worried it suggests a religious affiliation.
She takes a back road, narrow and tree-covered. She passes an owl, a real owl, sitting on a fence post, and considers it a sign. She lowers her window all the way. The puppy sniffs the air like a gourmand.
She enters the outskirts of the city, stops at a red light. A small band of mocha-skinned children gaze skeptically at her. One of them pokes the other in the ribs. The poke-e, a frowning but angel-faced boy strolls over to her window. "Do you buy truth or sell it?" he asks.
She hadn't considered either. "Gather it,” she wants to say except she knows that's a lie. She shrugs. The puppy whimpers and twists at its tether.
"Can I pet your dog?" the boy asks.
The boys arms are around the puppy's middle. His ears are wet and red from being nibbled. "The dog? For real?"
The boy unhooks the tether from the headrest and the puppy jumps out of the Honda. Someone behind them honks a horn.