But what of our hero steadfastly cruising toward the warm…Not warm! Cold. Cold water trickles down his back. He looks in the rearview mirror and is blinded by a glint of steel as it flashes down and out of sight. Quickly, he shifts Betsy into autopilot; she gathers momentum, faster and faster, at ever increasing speeds. She accelerates for a sharp acclivity near Whiskey gap and YES! YES! YES! Is airborne!!! A chorus of Betsy Betsy Bang Bang We love you, fills the air!
Sophia slips on the soapy teak floor and loses her grip on Harry’s gleaming straight razor. It flies through the air and bounces off the cab roof and spins downward, open blade, toward Harry’s unsuspecting noggin.
It is crowded in the skies but Betsy’s smart radar laser auto navigational locator system is a top-notch product from Canadian Tire. She swerves around pronghorns pulling a large man in a sleigh and careens around white boomers similarly engaged. The G-force pushes Harry deep into his seat as the huge red 18-wheeler heads for home across the celestial splendor. He has broken into a hot sweat, which neutralizes the trickle of cold water on his back. He snuggles under his car blanket, checks the screen for blips, and takes a deep breath. He has almost forgotten the odd glint of steel while basking in the satisfying rush of adrenalin coursing through his veins. It reminds him of that last session with the psychiatrist…so many years ago.
To be continued….
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