ROSCOE: No—I can drive myself. I’ve always done my own driving. Always. Ever since I was a little boy. Driving. I drove everywhere. (As he packs.) I drove away from—I was always—always on the move. Running—I mean. Gunning the engine. Racing through orchards and—they never caught me. Never once. I was so—they couldn’t believe how I’d disappear. Right under their noses. Vanish. Squealing. Like a demon. Bullets ripping all around me. Fires. Slashing wind. Sirens and flashlights. Hounds. Still they couldn’t bring me down! Couldn’t catch me. I left no signs. No trace. A phantom. That’s what it was. A ghost. I’d…(Continuing as he frantically packs suitcase.)…disappear. Turn up in another county. Different time. They’d send radio cars—vigilantes. Ropes and rifles. Tear gas—hand grenades. Bottles of butane. Fires swept through the countryside, trying to smoke me out. Fires burning day and night. Raging through the foothills. Animals fled. Smoke. Men. Horseback. Posses. Torches. It was—it was— (Still trying to pack his things, going in circles.) They laid siege to the— Freeways crumbled! The watershed! Floods and—floods and—dust and—wind all blasts of— All the canaries died!

(He stops. Comes to a standstill. Looks around at the others as though he’s just realized where he is in space and time. Suddenly everyone stops—even LIZ stops her obsessive cleaning. It’s as though they are all intensely listening to something that can’t be heard. This is not a “freeze” exercise or a stylized tableau but a real moment in time where everyone just listens silently. The moment lasts for a while; then LUCY steps up to ROSCOE, stops directly in front of him, and holds out an open palm to him.)

LUCY: (To ROSCOE.) Keys.

(ROSCOE pauses, then digs around in his pocket and pulls out the keys to the Chevy. He hands them to her.)

I’ll pull it up in the driveway.

(ROSCOE nods. LUCY exits right with keys. From this point on, LIZ sits silently, very still, facing out toward audience, both feet on floor, hands on knees, back very straight, no movement.)

MABLE: She’s an excellent driver, Roscoe. She can drive till the cows come home.

SALLY: She’s a little bit stoned, don’t you think?

MABLE: She’ll pull out of that somewhere around the Grapevine. You’re headed out that direction, aren’t you, Roscoe? San Bernardino, Cucamonga, out through Arizona?

ROSCOE: (Still standing, bewildered.) I—

MABLE: That’s the way I’d go if I were you. If I were heading east. Barstow, Yermo, Ludlow, Needles. That’s the route I’d take. Stop along the way. Enjoy the sights. Plenty a stuff to see.

SALLY: (Sitting up on her bed.) She might have a head-on collision, in the condition she’s in.