The night air was exceptionally warm as the bright fluorescent sky gleamed from the intensity of the moon. Sparsely streamlined clouds cast mysterious shadows as they passed the moon on their way to far off places. A lone car zoomed down a remote interstate. The car was a 1960 Ford Falcon. After years in the hot sun, its white paint had faded with time. What was once a new bright shimmering car now resembled a past era.
Bill had been driving non-stop for the last twelve hours. Feeling light headed from the lack of food and rest, he contemplated rolling down the side window. The window and door handles were both missing. Methodically, he reached for the pliers from within the ashtray and began the process of rolling down the window. After placing the pliers on the protruding metal stud, he gripped the pliers firmly with his palm while turning it downward. Once at the bottom of the rotation, he released his grip and repositioned the pliers until they were vertical to the door. He repeated the process until the window was halfway down.
A blast of warm air suddenly rushed in, and, for the moment, Bill felt rejuvenated. Earlier, he had been unsuccessful at locating a station on the car radio. He decided to try again. The volume and tuning knobs were both missing but could still be operated by a tight finger grip. Static and distant sounds from an unknown radio station filled the car's interior. The radio's speaker was torn and dangling from wires coming from beneath a cracked and faded dashboard. From behind the intermittent static, he heard an old, familiar song coming from the speaker.
As the song ended, static engulfed the radio signal. With only static to be found, he turned the metal control off. Bill grabbed for a half-smoked joint from under the floor mat. Using a match, he fired it up and took a deep hit. He held the smoke in for as long as possible before gasping for air. Taking what was left, he carefully placed it back under the floor mat. The ritual was so familiar to him that he didn't need to look down.
The high made him feel better about his lonely situation. Taking a hit of pot every thirty minutes was his cue to pull over and add water to the car's leaking radiator -- a habit he had become accustomed to while driving the infamous Falcon.
After pulling over on the shoulder of the road, he used the pliers to get out of the car. Once outside, he stretched and felt the stiffness in his back and legs. He walked around to the trunk and opened it. He reached for the plastic gallon container of water. Walking to the front of the car, he passed the driver's side and glanced at the words Zoomer II spray-painted in black. Bill opened the hood and released the radiator cap.
Steam rushed out of the rusted radiator. He put the bottle of water down on the ground and walked to the back of the car. He opened the rear door behind the driver's side. Looking in, he saw the torn upholstery hanging from the ceiling. Crumpled paper and old clothes were scattered over the rear seat and floor. Leaning in, he started moving the debris with his hands in an attempt to find a brown paper bag containing a half-eaten sandwich.
After locating the bag, Bill removed the hardened sandwich and took a bite. 'Not bad for being three days old,' Bill said before tossing the empty bag back into the car. Using his forearm, he cleaned the bread crumbs from his face. With his left hand, he used his right shoulder sleeve to wipe his mouth. Smeared on his short sleeve were dark brown pot stains. After closing the door, he walked to the front of the car. Picking up the water jug, he took a big drink before filling the radiator. He replaced the radiator cap and checked the oil. 'Didn't think I'd need oil, and I was right. Man, do I know my car!' Bill returned the water container to the trunk and closed it.
Bill walked around the passenger side of the car and checked the air in the tires. Just like the other side of the car, the words Zoomer II were carelessly painted in black across the side. With just a glance, Bill checked all four tires before he entered the car.
Taking the roach from under the mat, he lighted it and took another hit. After methodically extinguishing it, he placed it back under the mat before continuing his journey. 'I can't believe I've nursed this joint for two days and three nights.' Bill was proud that he had gone for so long with so little pot.
Bill started the car and slowly shifted through the gears using the shifting arm attached to the steering column. After driving a few miles, it began to rain. 'Crap!' he blurted out. Unhappy about his situation, he reached out of the half-rolled down window and grabbed the fishing line tied to the frame of the door. It was connected to the front wiper arm on the driver's side windshield. Driving with only his right hand, he pulled the fishing line back and forth with his left hand until the windshield was free of rain. He did this until it stopped raining.
It was time to pull over again and fill the radiator with more water when he noticed a red glow coming from the horizon. 'Could this be it?' Bill thought. The anticipation started his heart pounding. As he drew closer, he could see that the red glow was coming from a neon light. 'This has to be it!' Bill said. As he approached the glowing light, he could see that it was a red neon sign sitting on top of a forty-foot pole. The sign said 'Beer.' It was the landmark he was instructed to look for. Behind the radiating sign hiding in the shadows was an old two-story boarding house.