So there I was, just riding this strange wave of color and minding my own business, when I was interrupted in my reverie by a Buick, of all things, standing on its back tires and asking me if I knew the way to the Queen's Tea, which was apparently a form of store of some sort. Gazing upon the sea of chromatic disorder around me, I had no choice but to tell the Buick it was twenty-seven indigos down the rainbow with a left turn at the blue-violet. The Buick thanked me profusely and rode its lampshade across the void of color. To this day I do not if it ever made its way safely there or not.

The Buick had an incontinence problem. It blamed alternative intercourse, and would speak long and eloquently to the little Hybrids that although some things may feel good and bring much pleasure to both partners, there were sometimes unforeseen consequences. It also said it liked having its seatbelts pulled, but at that point its voice became a chromatic phenomenon and instead of hearing the rest, I just saw a blue shift as it receded into the distance…

Of everything the Buick taught me, I think the most important thing was the value of radishes as an important component of daily car maintenance. The way the red skin can blend with the white meat and form a swirling pink, a border that can captivate and hypnotize the user, can take a man's soul and bring it past the dashboard and to that nether region beyond, a world of wires and lights and a strange smell of red, where one can feel the sweet sound of glass belles chiming in the wind while the gentle flavor of the wind engulfs ones body and leaves you feeling ultraviolet.

With apologies to Sam Keith.