BBRREEEEEEP!  BREEEP!  BREEP!  BREEP!  BREEP!

  “Holy Shit!” from Charlie as he downshifts and hits the breaks hard, his pickled brain, already teetering on the brink of insanity after a week of hard living and cheap thrills, snaps to instant attention and responds almost involuntarily.  The BMW answers with a quick and deliberate nosedive as we try to lose speed… my body is tossed forward as a high pitched whine rises from under the spit polished hood of our high performance vehicle.
  “Fuck!” from me as my head jerks to the left, watching the Louisiana State Patrol speeding off in the opposite direction…  the custom-built, hidden-behind-the-grill radar detector performed its ascribed duty by informing us that we got nailed, caught red-handed by dreaded “Instant On Radar”…  going 95 mph... We are flying like a bat out of hell, trying to escape the sordid grasp of New Orleans, headed back to the warm secure bosom of the Tennessee Mountains.
  We had just passed a DOT signpost for Hogscrotum County, LA., 1 1/2 hours from the safety of city lights and known circumstance, worlds away from the comfort of home… The Middle of Nowhere, USA.
  “I don't have a license...” from Chuck.
  “I know," I say with a hint of trepidation, "And it's not our car,” just to remind him of another crucial element of our predicament.
  Chuck looks at me with freshly bloodshot eyes, his ruddy complexion showing the wear and tear of years on the run, he looks haggard… I can smell the gears in his alcohol soaked brain putting off a rank odor as they quickly come up to speed on the situation, he hesitates for but a moment,  'Do I really have to do this,' he is thinking…  Then, looking at me with more resolve than I knew he had in his yellowed belly, his answer becomes all too apparent when he drops the hammer and we rocket forward, rubber squealing,  "Here we go," he utters under his breath.  We are running…
  bmw... the ultimate flying machine.