I'm rolling to the crib. I've got my iPod hooked into my stereo, and the music is bumping. The back window is rattling, the windows are down, it's dark. I'm in the country, east of Madera, and this is the best part of the drive, going north on Road 36 between Avenue 9 and Avenue 12, straight and rough and hilly. DJ Cam's Summer in Paris is pumping from my Polks as I make the right from Avenue 9 on to Road 36. First, there's a drummer working the ride cymbal with his right and playing on the rim of his snare with his left. The pianist starts playing jazzy chords, and, already, I'm loving life and pressing down on the accelerator. Then the vocalist, Anggun, whisper-sings Paris in English and then in French.

summer in Paris
summer in Paris
I miss that kiss
summer in Paris

Fuck, now I want to go to Paris, and I'm scared of flying over large bodies of water. I don't care if the plane goes down, I just don't want to be eaten by sharks.

There's a trumpet solo, then a flute solo, then the pianist takes a turn, and the car is going faster and faster.