You know what I like about Canadians? They're real easy to elbow out of the way.

 It was the perfect colour. The perfect shape. The perfect car.

Even the Californian weather was perfect. The sun, high in the sky, light sparkling off the hood, making him squint his eyes against the glare. Heat shimmering above the tarmac that stretched clear and long ahead of him. Coasting down the highway, she ran like a dream.

A 1971 Buick Riviera dream.

Ray's dream.

Roaring under him, vibrating his entire body, sticky hands wrapped around a smooth wheel. He'd waited so long for this, spent his - their - entire savings on it and it was worth every cent. She took corners like a pro, raced down the highway like a sports car and if Ray was pushing her over the limit, she wasn't complaining.

He was in his own little metallic green piece of Heaven. Away from the city, out in the open, nothing and no-one stopping him from riding right off the edge of the world. With a slow, lazy grin, he closed his eyes, flattened his foot to the floor and chased the horizon.