UPDATES: April 20, 2001 I think it was around Joshua Tree that it became apparent that I wasn't going back. Here it was, blindingly real, the point of no return. I still don't know why I didn't make a u-turn and drive back home, but the momentum was too much. Or maybe it was because the cops were right behind me. I adjusted the rear-view mirror so that I could see the red and blue beacons of justice flash onto my shades. This was so much like those basically name-less films I used to watch where rebellious teens robbed stores and drove through the desert from the police. I'd like to make it clear now that I wasn't trying to achieve that status. Nor where my sun glasses a mask to hide behind and pretend I was younger, or better looking, or brave. My sunglasses were there to protect my eyes from the sun. The window was down not to let my hair fly wildly, mocking the Man. On the contrary, I was hot, and my car lacked sufficient AC. And the last thing I wanted to do was to mock them. The mirror really put things into perspective. I could see where I wanted to be, but I didn't have the means to go there. So I hurled myself instinctively forward, away from civilization. Steering with my left arm I reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out the cell phone. "Hello?" Devin responded. Why is hello a question? It should be a statement. You know that someone called you, why are you questioning their existence? I ask Devin this. He asks me if that's my car on TV. I hold the phone out the window and wave it around for a moment. I readjust it back to my skull, resuming the cancer. "Holy shit Paul!" Devin is a moron. "What the hell are you doing?" Driving, I say. What the fuck did it look like? Devin tells me to pull over. I tell him he can go fuck himself. This is my moment, my half an hour of godliness. Who knows how many people are watching this fat old bastard lead the bullet of cop cars through Joshua Tree? Why did you do it, he asks. That reminds me, I say. I reach to the back seat and pull out the six-pack I stole. Did you get fired? Devin pursues. No, dumbass, I didn't get fired. Although my chances of remaining a proud employee are a tad slim at this point. What can you see Devin? "Right now they're quite a distance away from you. I think they're gonna set up a spike strip up a few miles ahead." Shit. I only have a few miles till it's all over. I should have known this was going to happen. Thanks Devin. I can now count down realistically my last free minutes. OrÉthe gun seemed to bore its way into my ass. I pulled it out of the pocket. Now what, I ask myself.