My housemate Arnold says "You should go out and check your car. Its pilot light went out." My car does have a pilot light, so I go to check. The engine's on and running. Arnold did that I guess. The car also has a manual choke, rare today. I roll the car down a hill. Pull the handbrake to stop the car just at the end of the street, nearly touching a fence on the edge of a cliff. But I can't turn off the motor! I use the choke, trying to force it off, but it keeps on racing. Why? I get half out half in, peering under the car, poking controls, all tangled and confused.

Then I see my foot's on the gas. God, what an IDIOT! No wonder it's been racing.

I move my foot but the foot on the gas stays there, jamming it down... I poke the foot. Cold. Dead! I slide my hand reluctantly up the ankle, shin, knee. It's not MY leg at all! There's a whole CORPSE in the car, with its foot on the gas, hidden down in the dark under the dash, where I wouldn't notice it!

It's still too dark to see who it is.

I pull the dead foot off the pedal, and the motors slows--toward sanity.

Shit. Now that the motor problem's solved, I have to look that corpse in the face.

NOTE WHEN I WOKE

Well! I have felt nervous and "driven", lately. No wonder! An old dead thing who wasn't even ME has had its cold foot on the accelerator...

What worries me is, I'm about to find out what.

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