Cynthia Joan Weaver
Then Solvang, exit left appears, Danish, in California? The name fixes itself somewhere deeper in my mind for later recall. Any conversation from my companions has long finished; slumbering as they are, unaware and therefore unconcerned at the speed I am driving, which would get me stopped in any country apart, from Germany probably, but especially in America; freeway speed limit 55 mph, my speed 80 to 100 mph.
As I hung up, the phone rang, it was Big Bad Bob, Marks Karate buddy. This guy was, as Mark recently told me, as tight as a ducks ass, he’d nickel and dime you over a restaurant bill. He called to offer us his Dodge Shelby. No questions asked and based upon nothing more than being Marks friend and an acquaintance of mine; the guy gave up his pride and joy. This car was a 2.2 Litre turbo mental case, which went like stink off a turd and scared many who drove it. We thanked Bob and he was at our door within 15 minutes and Dave ran him home after we had left.
Cynthia Joan Weaver 5 years old