I slammed down on the accelerator and charged up the on ramp of the 405. Light traffic. Good. I was in the fast lane. I pushed the pedal to the metal. I hit the radio. The classical station. I cranked it up. The guy on the radio said that he was playing something by Beethoven. I know nothing about Beethoven outside of dum-dum-dum-dum. This was something different. But something just as loud. Good. I blasted it. I glanced in the rearview. Elise’s eyes were wide, her lips tight. She saw my eyes taking in her reaction in the mirror. She remained silent, cold. She did not tell me to slow down. She did not tell me to lower the Beethoven. She said nothing when I screeched across three lanes to catch the turnoff for the 101 South. She said nothing when I broke all sorts of laws and hit a top speed of 88 mph in a 65 mph zone. I knew I was gambling with the little I had in this world. I knew that, if a cop stopped me, I was risking a big crippling fine and a bunch of badass points on my license … points that would get reported to Uber and might cost me big time. But careful, responsible me … bills get paid, the eternal fucking good boy me … suddenly I didn’t give a shit. Suddenly I was doing the zig and the zag across the highway and shaving eight minutes off the original GPS estimated time. No one once honked or flipped me the bird or looked like I was some fucking kamikaze in this piece of crap Prius. And, roaring now off the 101 down Cahuenga, Beethoven right up to max, I found myself thinking: I am invincible. Nothing can touch me. Life at this moment is not the grind I have to live day by day. I am all speed.

Signs to Burbank Downtown. Signs to Burbank Boulevard. Another strip mall. My city: one big strip mall. I pulled into the parking lot. I scanned the storefronts. Health Central. That must be the one. I floored it one more time, then screeched to a halt in front of its steel-barred doorway. I checked the rearview. Elise had shut her eyes, as if she was awaiting the crash that would end it all. The Beethoven was still blaring. I braked. I cut the engine. I cut the music. Silence. A long pause. I saw Elise taking several steadying breaths. She opened her eyes. She looked as if she had just snapped out of a nightmare. Which might have been the truth. She opened her pocketbook. She pulled out another wad of cash. I said:

‘I don’t want your money.’

She ignored me, tossing the money onto the passenger seat beside me.

‘Thank you for getting me here so fast,’ she said. ‘No need to wait.’

And she was out of the car, gone.

Immediately I had a stab of guilt, thinking: you fucking madman.