Oracle, who not used to sitting in chairs, was even less used to sitting in cars. She was nothing if not a nuisance. The Bartender kept glancing at the Heron as if to say "why did we bring her along again?" and he finally told her that if she didn't stop kicking the back of the seat, pointing out the windows, and leaning out to wave at passing truckers shouting "hey, I know him", she was going to spend the remainder of the trip in the trunk. She pouted a minute, then leaned back and kicked the seat just once for spite, when the Bartender looked in the mirror at her and scowled, "An' ya wanna know something else?" Oracle crossed her arms and glared back, "When I wanna know something, I'll tell you, ya bartending sonofabitch.." The Bartender relaxed his grip on the wheel and grinned.

SuzyQ and Oracle relaxed as well, crushing against each other in the back seat. Suzy was chainsmoking cigarettes and painting her toenails, she painted Oracles too, and the two sat back-to-back in the seat, dangling their feet out the windows. Oracle was intently explaining to SuzyQ about the intricate movements of the rest area paperplate fan dance ("across you body, like so, to give the illusion of a crumpled up hamburger wrapper fluttering across an empty parking lot") when she sat bolt upright in the backseat and yelled, PULL OVER!

The Wailin' Wall. Bottles stacked up with names like Jack, and Jim, and Mad Dog. The older bottles at the bottom were yellowed with age, and full of wasps and flies that went into the bottles after liquid gold and never returned. The newer bottles at the top glinted like diamonds. When the breezes came from the mountains and skipped across the bottle lips, the wall acted as a jug band all of it's own. Today's long slow wind played a dirge as SuzyQ, the Bartender, the Heron and the Oracle stood quietly before returning to the car. They fished along the floor, pulling out bottles of their own, placed them on the wall, and drove on.