"You have just swallowed your pride and done something you didn't want to do. Your friend wants to know why. The two of you are driving around an almost-full parking garage looking for a space for the friend's oversize pickup. Write the scene."
I glanced in her direction for a moment before I focused on the packed parking garage. "Is that a spot?" I blurted out, pointing to the left.
Lacy slowed down and then rolled her eyes, "Motorcycle."
"So, are you going to tell me or not?" She pushed.
"Not," I replied plainly.
Lacy's grip tightened on the steering wheel. Ready to rant about how best friends tell each other everything, she drew in a deep breath, but something caught her attention. I followed her gaze to a woman struggling to hold a half dozen bags as she searched through her purse. The woman fished out her keys and a nearby trunk popped open. Lacy stopped a few car lengths away and waited as the woman loaded her bags. "That's it: shut the trunk, get in the car, start the engine..." She listed condescendingly while the woman closed the trunk and then walked away. "You've got to be kidding me? Who does that?" She barked. Lacy let out an exasperated sigh as the truck moved forward once again.
Reference (because plagiarizing isn't cool)
The San Francisco Writers' Grotto. (2011). 642 things to write about. San Francisco, CA: Chronicle Books LLC.