Hey M, what can I assist with? Call Jocelyn. Calling Jocelyn. The numbers appeared in large yellow font on the screen in front of him. The boys icon of a telephone ringing, in green, beside the digits. The familiar old school ring played over the car stereo. Bruce Springsteen’s Cover Me momentarily paused. Detecting the first drops of rain on the vehicles windshield, M. Sent the windshield wipers back and forth, once. One ring, three rings, five – hey M. Stop calling. The digits disappeared from the screen. The icon for EStreet radio appeared back on the screen. Sirius radio’s 24/7, nothing but Springsteen station. It began to rain harder, M. Commanded the wipers at a more urgent pace. Where are you? He said, out loud as if posing the question to his make believe passengers. Hey M, call Jocelyn. The digits reappeared. The sound of phone ringing filled the cabin. Four rings, five rings – hi, you’ve reached Jocelyn Cooper, thank you for calling. I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a brief voice message and I will be sure to phone you right back. Hey asweetheart, it’s Dad, I have left you numerous messages. Please call me. I am worried about you. He watched the drops splatter, wriggle up the wind shield, like sperm in a frantic race to the roof, before being cut down by the wipers blades. Stay left, said M. Pausing Dancing in the dark. The large green sign that hung over the highway said Seattle 712KM. The trees turned to silhouettes as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Soon it was to be night again. He will need more gas. More coffee. He tried to think of the last time he ate. Stared at the unending broken white lines zipping past as if they had the answer to divine. Hey M, What can I assist you with. Am I loosing my mind? I am sorry I cannot assist you with that right now. What is Cheeseburger, what is McDonalds, what is Demoine. I’ll take crappy road trip food for 300 Alex.