“Look out for that deer!” cried Obi.
Flu, startled for a moment, yanked the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve. Fortunately, none of the cameras or cops caught it. Flu relaxed with the realization that it was just the after-effects of the sleeping pill.
“Welcome back” she said.
Obi stared silently out the window, his drug-induced drool sliding slowly down his chin. He nodded slowly and finally croaked, “So, just a few more miles to go?”
He changed the radio channel, replacing the soft, meditative radio static with the shouts of a used car salesperson. It was hard to tell the gender because the advertiser’s voice was booming and sped up.
“These cars are insane! I don’t mean the prices, I mean the cars! Last week I committed three of them for schizophrenia!
“Don’t walk or run to get these cars! Drive!
“If you can’t drive here, we’ll pick you up!” (This sentence was at least double the speed of the previous sentences.)
“President Ford demands that you drive a car! Governor Toyota and LeBaron Chrysler agree! So be patriotic and say buy, buy, buy to your bikes!”
For a moment Flu regretted not hooking an IV into Obi’s wrist while he was passed out, but then Obi pointed out the almost invisible exit they needed and she was thankful for his company.
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