Deadpool

Wade had his feet up on the dash, the passenger's seat leaning all the way back. His lanky body was completely stretched out, his fingers drumming on the roof. He hummed a tune, tapping the toes of his boots on the windshield, unable to sit still. Part of him was entirely too pissed off that he had to sit here like a... like a person who had to sit there. It just wasn’t his job. His job was killing and slashing and maybe or maybe not getting blown up in the process. Blegh. Patience, shmatience.