The pandemic has driven us to creative lengths for intimate encounters. Our wanderer finds solace in the backseat of their car, the dim glow of the city lights casting a soft, shadowy dance on their skin. They slip on a condom, the sound of the wrapper echoing in the silence. The car fills with the scent of their desperation as they stroke themselves, the cool air against their heated flesh a stark contrast. They groan, their body tensing as they reach their climax, the car swaying softly with their movements.