Damion was floating in a state of perpetual fugue-like symptoms. His wife prattled next to him in the driver’s seat and he agreed, nodded his head and smiled every once in a while. He kept his eyes closed, however, and his brain had already moved out from the confines of the small smart car she had insisted on buying.

His pre-dreams were centering around the disdain for his immediate surroundings, actually, as the road droned beneath them. (It was that low hum that lulled him to sleep on any car trip longer than an hour and they were in hour number five by the time he just gave into the lull of the highway sirens. Damion didn’t know why it was almost impossible for him to stay awake. He had always just assumed it had to be a side effect of his adult ADD.) Behind his eyes were a bevy of various images, brought to mind by his wife’s talking and the ambient sounds of the trip. In one second he was being laughed at by passing motorists and in the next he was driving a better car, away from his wife.