She slowed the car to a halt at the traffic lights. They seemed an age at red, yet the green roads were empty at this unforesaken Sunday hour. Nothing was happening.
The only sound was her fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.
He broke the spoken silence. "You know, if this were a film we'd just have a montage of our journey. To keep them momentum up."
In her head, something went 'Ping!' like a microwave timer set to explosion.
"Will you stop underlining the filmic limitations of reality and concentrate on the bloody map you irritating arsehole of a husband! Contrary to all your expectations this is not a piece of cinematography. This is us going to my parents. With hangovers!"