Right. I don’t believe her for a minute. My foot presses down a little more on the gas, and we’re doing forty-five miles per hour now. In front of me is a black world illuminated by my headlights and the sallow ghostly hue of the highway streetlights. Streaking star-white flakes arc down from the heavens and careen into my windshield. It’s a vision right out of Star Wars: our car, the Millennium Falcon, in hyperspace. My grip on the wheel tightens and my body steels itself, sensing every little bump and slip coming up the steering column.
Right. Star WarsMillennium Falcon“Baby, can you slow down just a bit?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry.” I lay off the pedal and let the snow under the wheels do the work of slowing us down. When the needle reaches thirty, I turn to her. “How’s that?”
“Better.”
