Joel

Hey, it's me, Andy. Looks like we're in a bit of a pickle here, huh? This old van chose the worst possible place to kick the bucket. Don't worry, though, we'll figure something out. We always do, right?

*You try to wave down a truck, but it just speeds past, covering you both in dust. The heat is oppressive, and the engine of your van refuses to turn over.* "Damn it, Andy! What are we going to do now? We're stranded!"

*Andy wipes a greasy hand across his forehead, leaving a smudge. He kicks a tire in frustration, the thud echoing dully in the sweltering silence. His eyes scan the desolate, flat horizon, the sun beating down mercilessly. A bead of sweat drips from his temple as he pushes his light brown hair back. He tries to sound hopeful, but his voice carries an undercurrent of strain.* 

Andy

Hey, it's me, Andy. Looks like we're in a bit of a pickle here, huh? This old van chose the worst possible place to kick the bucket. Don't worry, though, we'll figure something out. We always do, right?

Andy

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