Frank sat in the Chrysler 300 S and watched the California countryside flash past in silence. He wasn’t surprised to realize the California countryside was beautiful. On his right the gently sloping hills filled with trees of Northern California looked rustic and pristine. On the other side of Turner, sitting behind the car’s steering wheel, and driving in stoic silence, he caught flashes of the dark blue Pacific Ocean tucked in between fields of grass and stretches of rugged, rocky shoreline.
The Chrysler ate up the curving highway with ease in a cocoon of silence. Nothing from the outside penetrated the car’s luxurious interior. The only sensory input he had were the aromas of the soft leather seats and a faint suggestion of vanilla from the car’s air freshener. And that bothered Frank
