No alarm even when he gimmicked the door open. And this was no piece of junk, either. There were more buttons and dials on the dashboard than he knew the functions of.
Ignition wires were still in the same place, though. He started it up--it barely made a sound, the engine purring on the edge of audibility--and pulled out into the night.
He was up to 110 when he decided to put on the radio. Now which dial was that again? He twisted one at random
and screamed as he was suddenly pummeled by large round objects. His first thought was hail, but there was still a roof overhead... Then something hit him on the head and he
Petroski noticed the car in the ditch, and stopped for a closer look. It didn't seem to be damaged, but there was something weird inside it... Through the windows he could see what looked like melons. Honeydew, cantaloupe, watermelons, even a pumpkin or two. He sighed. This was going to take a while to clean out.
"Just a sec," she said. "Where's the dial? There it is."
"Geez, not so much! Oh, yuk. Dave's been driving this again, I can tell." He spat out a bite of dill pickle and hit a button. "And he's been messing with my presets, too! He knows I hate garlic!"
She turned the dial down. "So whatcha want?"
"I dunno. You decide."
"Smoked oysters it is," she said.
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The Den of Ubiquity/ Aaron V. Humphrey / email@example.com