Tom had checked the tire pressure and brake pads of his van like a colt before the race. Maximum performance. When the corn got tall, he knew he had arrived.
He started the engine. He shifted into reverse. First, second. Brakes. Reverse again. He made precision turns. His van danced the tarantella until the dawn lights erased the last traces of darkness.
He would see his 'alien' work on the net. So would Alice. They both had obsessions. Hers was science fiction. Now she wouldn't turn down a date.