Things are not what they seem, more than we are willing to admit
Mick, cramped in the driver seat of the small Fiat, keeping his knees wide open, one on each side of the wheel, steered the car along the dark road. In the seat next to him, Loretta's head rocked with each turn, her hand tapping Mick's thigh lightly with the tune of Stevie Wonder's Saturn that played quietly on the radio. A real oldie thought Mick. The small 800cc vehicle sputtered up the serpentine road. The large trees extended their fingers above them, casting eerie moon shadows on the road ahead.