René Finegan was sitting in his Lincoln on the side of the road. "You're a Lunatic for Ignoring Me" by The Fist bumps was squawking on the radio. He turned the radio off.
For no apparent reason, he felt for his tummy and his scalp and his beard. They were all there. That was good. Also, his front tooth was not heating up. That was good, too.
He felt sociable. He must have had quite a nap. What time is it? He looked at the clock. Ten 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 river visible across the road, but nothing special to see. Probably time to get going. He started up his Lincoln and took off down the road. "Pytyvije takrijut," he thought to himself.