Traffic was heavy on the interstate. I weaved and bobbed my sports car amid the traffic. There only seemed to be a few kinds of car on the road.

There were the small sedans, which kept trying to plink at me with machine guns. There were the huge, armored buggies that kept trying to force me off the road. And, for whatever reason I can’t figure out, there were the stretch limos whose occupants were all armed with pistols. And intermingled with these vehicles—all of which seemed to be trying to do me in, I might add—were ordinary civilian cars, which kept blocking my line of fire on the others.

And it felt like I’d been driving this road forever, with the monotony broken only by a few random boat docks. I really could use a break, or at least some coffee.

But somehow, all of that wouldn’t have seemed so bad, if I could only get the radio to stop playing that stupid Henry Mancini tune over and over again…