Kelly Yastremski was sitting in her Oldsmobile on the side of the road. "I'm a Hothead for Neglecting You" by The Flinchs was squawking on the radio. She turned the radio off.
For no apparent reason, she felt for her eye and her elbow and her throat. They were all there. That was good. Also, her arm was not wrinkling. That was good, too.
She felt fuzzy. She must have had quite a nap. What time is it? She looked at the clock. Eight a.m. About what you'd expect, still on schedule. The nap had taken no time at all.
She looked out the window. There was a grassy knoll visible across the road, but nothing special to see. Probably time to get going. She started up her Oldsmobile and took off down the road. "Bepafoomy cichohyb," she thought to herself.