station and got the soft； wailing voice of Al Green。
〃What a beautiful time we had together；
Now it's getting late and we must leave each other。。。〃
He unrolled the window； pitched his cigarette butt out； then rolled it further
down to clear out the smell of the oranges。 He tapped his fingers against the
wheel and hummed along under his breath。 Hooked over the rearview mirror； his
St。 Christopher's medal swung gently back and forth。
And suddenly the smell of oranges intensified and he knew it was ing；
something was ing at him。 He saw his own eyes in the rearview； widening；
surprised。 And then it came all at once； came in a huge blast that drove out
everything else： the music； the road ahead； his own absent awareness of himself
as a unique human creature。 It was as if someone had put a psychic gun to his
head and shot him with a 。45 caliber scream。
（！！！ OH DICK OH PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE E！！！）
The limo had just drawn even with a Pinto station wagon driven by a man in
workman's clothes。 The workman saw the limo drifting into his lane and laid on
the born。 When the Cadillac continued to drift he snapped a look at the driver
and saw a big black man bolt upright behind the wheel； his eyes looking vaguely
upward。 Later the workman told his wife that he knew it was just one of those
niggery hairdos they were all wearing these days； but at the time it had looked
just as if every hair on that coon's head was standing on end。 He thought the
black man was having a heart attack。
The workman braked hard； dropping back into a luckily empty space behind him。
The rear end of the Cadillac pulled ahead of him； still cutting in；