She’s traveling in a car. Or maybe it’s a bus. She isn’t sure, because it continually shifts shape and form. Caimbeul is driving. He is wearing that horrible makeup. Garish and clownlike. A hideous red gash of a mouth. Black diamonds over his eyes. Hair streaked with blond and orange. His usual garb is replaced with faded blue jeans, cowboy boots run down at the heels, and a washed-out T-shirt that says: Ninety percent of everything is drek.