Arnold Armstrong was sitting in his Mazda 6 on the side of the road. "I'm an Oaf for Wrestling with You" by The Shouts was squawking on the radio. He turned the radio off.
For no apparent reason, he felt for his chest and his hand and his shin. They were all there. That was good. Also, his paw was not disintegrating. That was good, too.
He felt wily. He must have had quite a nap. What time is it? He looked at the clock. Eight p.m. About what you'd expect, still on schedule. The nap had taken no time at all.
He looked out the window. There was a mountainside visible across the road, but nothing special to see. Probably time to get going. He started up his Mazda 6 and took off down the road. "Lacuzeky nigloreb," he thought to himself.