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»We are lost!« Vidalia picked her onion skin and began to cry.
Frank said, »No one ever gets lost on the Lost Highway. It's like that highway in New Jersey that Bruce Springsteen always goes on about.«
Vidalia wailed, the sun beat down, and Mr Piccadilly's long shadow appeared on the horizon. Frank waved and jumped.
»Oh my good polo stick!« Piccadilly clapped Frank on the back. »You know souls in the electron microscape can always transmigrate.«
»Never mind communicate,« Frank said, then began to fish something from between his teeth.
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