Pulling out of the Starbucks lot ahead of me is a sleek, black luxury automobile with a vanity plate: SATAN. Which...wow, really? That was what you picked? And they let you? Well, that's...interesting. I suspect that the actual Prince of Darkness would not feel so insecure that he would need to brag about it quite that much, but whatever. Also I am late, Dark Lord, so apply some pressure to the pedal on the right if you would.
At the next stoplight I pulled alongside to openly gawk at Old Scratch. I was hoping desperately that it would be Ray Wise behind the wheel, but it was a woman. Dark hair, kinda severe, only murkily visible behind the heavily tinted glass. She glanced back, with an irritated "what are you looking at?" expression. Um, lady, your licence plate implies you are THE DEVIL. Forgive me if I stare rudely. You can take it, I think. And should be used to it.
Then I noticed what she had in the back seat: a festive balloon bouquet. Jolly pastels, at least one mylar balloon with a smiley face. Happy Birthday? Get Well Soon? I couldn't make it out before the light changed and Beelzebub pulled slowly, regally away.