“Oranges,” Joda told the driver, crossing his arms with satisfaction. 

The driver groaned. “Young sir, I would like you to refrain from ever using innocent fruit in that context ever again.” He paused briefly to flick the limo’s indicator on, before reaching up to adjust the cap perched jauntily atop his thinning, pepper hair. “Or I shall be forced to resign from my position.”

“Oh please, your family’s probably been driving mine around in a horse and cart for literal eons.”

“Actually, young sir, I’m from a contracting company; this is my second week working for you.”

“Oh. Well, you don't look it, old man.”

“I’m choosing to ignore your frankly insensitive comment, on the condition that you leave both apples and lemons unsullied.”

“No can do, old man. I’m a public menace.”

“With all respect, young sir, the shoes you are so rudely leaving on my headrest likely cost more than what I make in a month. Menace is not the word that comes to mind.”

“I could be! For all you know!”

“Debatable, young sir.”

Joda quietened, shuffling in his seat. Past the tinted windows and cold smooth interior, the sun beat down, the delicate petunias and lilies of suburbia wilting under its unfiltered attention. He squinted. The weak rays that had managed to battle through the dark glass wandered mournfully across his face, brushing softly over his ‘not a bowl cut’ before resting languidly in his dark, twitching eyes. Joda jerked his head back, out of the sunlight. And then forward. And back again. Forward. Back. Forward.

Fingers tapping against the smooth side of the cup holder, his other hand ran tiny races against the bobbing spots of light around the sleek, cold door handle, as his head swayed violently.

“Young sir, are you all alright back there?”

“Just bored.”

Joda sighed and let his fingers still, tucking a stick like slack clad leg under his butt. He picked at his shoe: short, uniform crescents slowly unraveling the end of the lace.

“Really, really bored.”

“Perhaps I could have figured that out on my own then.” The driver, resting his hand on the wheel wearily. Joda could see the thick, twisting veins running down from the man's wrists, the wiry sinew of his forearms laden with a tension that seemed unlikely to have come from taxi driving.

Joda whistled shrilly, piercing the silence. “Do you work out, man? That's some serious muscle for an old guy.”

The driver groaned and brought a hand to his ear, rubbing morosely. “Young sir, that was a very unpleasant sound.”

“But do you though?”

“I suppose that depends on your definition, young sir.”

“Quit with the ‘young sir’ already; it’s driving me nuts. It's just Joda.”

“As you wish.”

There was silence in the limo for a second as it trundled down a suburban street, white picket fences flashing by outside. Still, Joda’s thirst for knowledge could not be quenched.

“Ok. One, stop trying to distract me with from the topic of your freakishly buff forearms with your politeness. It's annoying. Two, why do you have freakishly buff forearms?”

The driver shrugged and readjusted his cap again. “I garden a lot.”

“You garden a lot?” Joda leaned forward, poking in his head to better invade the driver's personal space. “Grandpa, those must some seriously big pumpkins. You win any prizes at the county fair yet?”

The driver just sighed and poked Joda in the side of the head, sending him toppling off balance and back into the back of the limo with a squeak, a tangle of skinny limbs and spotless white Gucci's.

“No vegetables of any kind, actually.” He angled the rear view mirror so he could see the boy's graceless position and chuckled. Joda scowled up at him from where he was wedged in between the footrest and back of the smooth leather seat, struggling for traction to help himself up.

“Playing dirty, old man.”

His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the sleek surface.

“I garden a lot.”

“Now you’ve got me worried, have you been assaulting innocent bushes to get this strong? I mean, I’m a pretty tough guy.”

The driver twisted in his seat, turning to stare down at Joda and his short, twiggy build. He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Of course you are, young sir.”

“I am! Seriously. Here, ok look at this.”

He abandoned his struggle for leverage and instead lifted a long, thin finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Hang on, lemme get a better angle.” Joda craned his neck around so the driver could definitely see the slightly misshapen bulge protruding out of his face. He poked it again.

“Guess how I did it.”

“You’ll have to tell me, young sir, I don’t have much of an imagination.”

“Come on, just guess! You’re getting paid for this, so humour me.”

“It’s certainly not in my contract.”

“Uggh. Fine. But I mean, you can see it, right? It looks like it took something incredibly cool and manly to get knocked out of shape like this, right?”

“Right.”

“Ok, right, I mean, uhh, well so I was playing basketball, right?”

“Do go on.”

“And I was following this guy who was running down the court to our end. And he got past everyone cause they were all dumbasses. Like I mean, seriously, and that’s saying something considering the general dumbassery of basketball players.”

“You are surprisingly self-aware, young sir.”

“Yeah, cause I’m smart. But anyway, so I’m sprinting after this guy, and I’m concentrating on him heaps. And we're getting closer, and closer, and it's like an epic Western standoff and then. BAM! I hit the basketball pole. Headfirst.”

“I see.”

Joda nodded animatedly. “Just like WHAM! And then there was blood everywhere and I think I passed out, and my mom was screaming a lot, but also me a little bit I think. And they couldn’t set it properly because we mucked around a bit because mom wouldn’t let go of me so it took forever to get to the hospital, so it was a bit late, so now it’s stuck like this.”

“I think it makes you look rugged.”

“Right? That’s what I said.”

There was another second of silence. Joda shuffled a little in his position on the floor.

‘You're alright, you know, for an old guy.”

His forehead wrinkled.

“With freakishly buff forearms.” He added as an afterthought.

The driver grinned. “I’m flattered, young sir.”

“Seriously, it's just Joda. At this rate, I’m gonna be greyer than you.”

“I must say, young sir, I’m glad we’re picking up a passenger, so you can offend someone else instead.” The limo had already slowed, crunching on the gravel accumulated at the curb. “I believe we have arrived at your destination.”

There was a pause, and then Joda let out a long, sad sigh. “I’m telling my father to hire someone that's less of a smart-ass next time.”

“Probably a good call, young sir."