I was following down the highway after my dream-love at ninety-five miles an hour.  She and I were the two fastest cars on the road.  I was at the wheel of an air-conditioned 1971 Ford Galaxie (at that time the suburban car par excellence), she was in a black Chevrolet pickup, 1970, the make embossed and then painted in large white letters on the tailgate; she kept the window open all the way to blow a sultry wind through pale-blonde hair. I had not yet seen her face and I was having a hard time keeping up.

I blasted the radio as loud as it would go over the air-conditioning.  KCRQ San Diego, having played off American and British hits and totaled consecutive telephone-preference victories for each, was plumping down the swollen fruit of its British Invasion Weekend, driving toward Number One in the standings.

Down — below the ocean
That’s where — I want to be, want to be
Down — below the ocean
That’s where — I want to be, she may be

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