The mid-century convertible glided down the interstate. Grinning, the driver glanced lazily at the summer haze, his silver-rimmed aviators reflecting the road ahead. The heat didn’t bother him nor did the bone-dry air.

His black bolo tie dangled forward as he nudged the cassette tape into the player. The speakers replied with a simple guitar melody accentuating even simpler lyrics:

The more we get together
The happier we’ll be
‘Cause your friends are my friends
And my friends are your friends

His grin grew wider as he hummed along with the tune. “Oh, yes,” he thought, with humor. No longer satisfied with humming, he began singing along, softly at first, then with exuberance. The increasingly violent wind whipped about, muffling his voice, as he stabbed the accelerator. He had many miles to go, but he was sure. He was always so sure.