Erin | Vincent Churchwell
He’ll look Closer at the green sedan, including inside of it for anything going on in there.
The car itself is, despite general wear, as well kept as it can be, upholstery wiped clean and everything seeming to function, engine sounding good for a car this old. The cigarette lighter has been torn out and left open and an extension cord is visibly running into the front of the car from there.
Now, the car itself is well kept— which is impressive, because the general interior is full of trash and tossed around personal possessions. The passenger's side has a carpet of trash, along the ground of it, empty glass bottles, crushed cans, torn up wrappers, and ditched cigarette boxes piled a few inches high. Something lights up and beeps in the mess. If that’s his phone, his ring tone for text messages sounds like lead pipe noise. Who knows who’s phone that could be.
The rear view mirror has dirty fuzzy dice hanging from it, the air vents have little horns that are starting to peel stuck to them, and the dashboard itself has a collection of little objects, including rubber duckies, felt rats, weird nonsense creatures, and a lot of bunny plushies and rubber spiders piled up where they won't block the view of the road too much.
The glovebox has a lock that looks like it was added on, but it's currently unlocked and hanging slightly open.
The back seats of the car more resemble a nest than anything, blankets and pillows piled up onto one side. Nested between the two front seats is a TV inside a milk crate, fastened into place by ratchet straps around the crate's holes that go to the head rests of the front two seats and to the undersides of the seat. It's hooked in pretty securely. An extension cord runs from the front of the car to the back, one of the plugs currently plugged into the TV.
The back doors are locked, and the locks in the car don't seem to do anything to change that. You're only able to inspect the front of the car in depth for now.
