Ten Minutes (Or More)

“Welcome aboard, madam! I am Nick, humble serf from the land of Shipping and Receiving, and ‘tis I so destined to be your chauffeur tonight.”

“Oh goodness, Nick! What in the world is that tone?”

“I’m showing you all due decor, Miss Diamanté.”

“You don’t have to do all... that!”

“Au contraire, mademoiselle. You are the most noble mare on the production floor.”

“I am the only mare on the premises. And... was that Prench?”

“French.”

“You—”

“Ah ah, buckle up, my dear lady! We are nine minutes long, now! We must away before—oh, you need help any with your seatbelt?”

“I’m... fine! See? Dear me, life without levitation would be—AH!”

“To Micky D’s!”

“Hm.”

“Mademoiselle...?”

“...Hmph.”

“Ha, okay. I’ll stop.”

“Grand. Well, these Prench curls are a little saltier than I expected. And this meal is quite hearty. And the drink is... small, yet not.”

“Well, you are a little lady.”

“And with such little time. Your clock reads 10:27.”

“Yeah... sorry. When I offered to drive you out for lunch, I really sort of meant that you eat it over the next seven hours. Or in an hour during, well, actual lunch.”

“Oh.”

“Comes with the night shift.”

“...Quite. And it’s such a dreadfully long shift. I suppose... this will have to do.”

“Mm... At least you seemed to be enjoying the ride.”

“I was. It’s... the kind of experience I have been searching for on Earth.”

“Really?”

“In part. Perhaps next time, my thoughts will have settled on the experience.”

“...Next time?”