June Gilmore was sitting in her Bentley on the side of the road. "You're a Dope fiend for Caring for Me" by The Sighs was squawking on the radio. She turned the radio off.
For no apparent reason, she felt for her toe and her larynx and her gall bladder. They were all there. That was good. Also, her foot was not vexing. That was good, too.
She felt tense. She must have had quite a nap. What time is it? She looked at the clock. Six 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 pond visible across the road, but nothing special to see. Probably time to get going. She started up her Bentley and took off down the road. "Bitoozija cuflyhok," she thought to herself.