| Then the unthinkable happened. (Or the obvious, depending upon whether or not you're smarter than two guys in Christmas suits.) About a mile south of Dixie Lucky exploded in a cloud of white smoke. Mayday! Mayday! Severity One! This is not a drill! Lucky's down! Lucky's Down! Call AAA! Call [ ]! Call the ASPCA! | 
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Something was dripping from Lucky, and it wasn't yellow matter custard. I-55 will long remember our faithful pooch, mainly because he left an oil slick 100 yards long and six inches wide--like a 2,000-pound unhousebroken puppy with the Hershey Squirts. Bad Lucky! Bad luck! Lucky may have had no Invisibility button, but she evidently had a self-destruct button, and I must have pushed it--and HARD. If you've never had a car explode in your face, well, I can't recommend the experience. |
| We tried calling AAA on Burford's cell phone, but there's another problem: not only is the cigarette lighter no good as an Invisibility Vector -- it's also no good as a cigarette lighter. We can't get power to the phone. The two of us had to pound asphalt all the way back to Dixie. This wasn't my idea of "four on the floor." I don't imagine you've ever trudged North along I-55 wearing a Santa Claus outfit and snow boots, but save yourself the trouble of rushing out and trying it--it isn't fun. I quickly figured out that snow boots are for snow. There's a symmetry in there somewhere. |  Santa tries to keep his spirits up by waving his cap-ball at the camera. |
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Having walked back to Dixie, we sit waiting for the tow truck. The driver has been instructed to "look for the guy in the Santa suit out front". People are still avoiding us. I reread the passage I read the night before, about this place being a "safe refuge" from "Killer 66." Books suck. |
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