What you said was tomorrow. Pick him up tomorrow, is what you said. A retired man like yourself, still playing the game. Shaft is in the mood to hear the slow jams. Not too hard, not too soft, that'll do just fine.
Shaft sings along to the songs, mouth moving beautifully in time.
Shaft beats his fingers down on the steering wheel. Shaft stares out the driver-side window of the minivan. 40 mph . . . Shaft screams, motioning for the side of the road. 55 mph . . .