…oncet I rode with a woman driver…I gonna tell you flat out oncet was aplenty…we was in a funeral procession yet…
Monroe D. Underwood
We drove homeward through heavy gray rain.
The traffic moved sluggishly.
Betsy didn’t.
Betsy drives like an utter maniac.
No offense to utter maniacs intended.
Some of my best friends are utter maniacs.
Betsy glanced at me.
She said a penny for your thoughts.
I shrugged.
I said I was just thinking.
I said I was just thinking of the great rapport existent between you and this overpowered vehicle.
I said it is uncanny.
I said I am awestricken.
I said I am so goddam awestricken that I will thank you to let me off at the next corner.
I said I will flag down a meteor or a comparable means of safe conveyance.
Betsy said stop crossing yourself.
She said you aren’t even Catholic.
She said besides we’re almost home.
I said the Germans were almost to Moscow.
Betsy slowed down.
The last twenty blocks took nearly a minute.