Does not bode well for the planned ride. Then Elaine appears, her best editor's smile as radiant as the August sun. To commemorate my arrival, Maurice lights off this sub-orbital bottle rocket about the size of a boat flare. It goes off with a cacaphonous boom that rattles around the valley. A car alarm goes off down the street.
Rice starts crying.
Elaine scolds Maurice. They must have sensed it, because they immediately produce a beer. Not swill either, but a fine microbrew. The drought, they explain. One beer, as it so often does, leads to another.