Xander sat in his car, mullering the key in the ignition and using language that would make a sailor blush. His ex had told him the car had character, he privately thought it had 'bitch fits'. He yanked the key for a huge spluttering rev of the engine and swore, punching the steering wheel. He could go to his room and get the keys to his chopper but there was a principle involved. He sat huffily in the driver's seat and lit a cigarette, a stubborn look on his face.