CHLOE: Cool truck.
TOM: Like it?
CHLOE: Dig the two-tone.
TOM: This was my dad's last truck.
CHLOE: Really?
TOM: Yep. Picked it up in San Antonio on his way home from an Oilers game.
CHLOE: Oilers?
TOM: Football team that don't exist anymore.
CHLOE: Oh. Can I see inside.
TOM: Course ya can. Need to get my sunglasses anyway.
He opens the door, gets sunglasses from sleeve on driver's visor. Hunter parks Rover on street, gets out, walks to Tom and Chloe.
CHLOE: Love the saddle blanket.
TOM: That's new. Dash and radio ain't original, obviously.
Hunter arrives.
CHLOE: This was Tom's dad's last truck.
HUNTER: Really?
CHLOE: Yessir.
HUNTER: Eighty-six?
TOM: Five.
HUNTER: It's in great condition.
TOM: I try to stay on top a things. Don't drive it much. Ordinarily we'd be in the Subaru.
Something catches Chloe's eye.
CHLOE: Yonder comes a convertible.
Tom and Hunter turn to watch the Alfa Romeo Spider, top-down, approach.
HUNTER: Heeere's Jackie.
Hunter walks to street and like an aircraft marshaller guides the driver, JACKIE, 50ish, long hair in a tail under SKI APACHE ballcap, to driveway and garage. Tom closes truck door, pockets keys, stands with Chloe watching Jackie arrive.
TOM: Nervous?
CHLOE: I spent all my nervous on you.
She winks, Tom smiles.
to be continued.