It would have been a picture-perfect moment, had I not seethed with angry arousal, nor lacked a suitably hygienic ‘pocket’ with which to stash my phone. Chasity had fallen asleep with her face smooshed against the saliva smeared window. Tendrils of spit fanned outwards like a cinematic splash of water, displaced by the rumbling rasp of her syrupy snores. The sound conjuring the illusion of a steam train choking on the last dregs of water as it painfully limped along the tracks.