It had been cold. It wasn't just Stan - the October weather too seemed to be snobbish. The road had been wet from the late evening shower and a thin fog had begun to envelop the suburban plains.

Stan drove a '91 metallic blue Porsche. The brown leather upholstery was comfortable and warm.

"You've kept this baby brand new" complimented Glen, trying to break the ice. Stan nodded and glanced at Glen. The next 10 minutes were lost to silence.

Glen spoke up "Stan, I'm not going forever. It's just that teaching means a lot to me. I'll come b-"

"You don't need to do this" Stan shrugged. "I mean you gotta do what you gotta do. I expect to see you at the weekends though, back at the shop going over lists…"

Glen grinned. "You bet!" he chuckled.

Stan looked like himself again. He whistled to the Beatles playing on the radio as he cut across the winding roads to the city.

Glen hummed "Hello Goodbye" and docked his head back on the headrest. And then he heard an engine roar different from the Porsche's. He saw the Drunk's Land Cruiser's fog lamps. There was a desperate scream, screeches, a collision and smoke. The Drunk's horn began blaring after the accident. It seemed odd. Everything from thereon was a blur.