We flew through a thunderstorm on our way into
Pittsburgh, landing without incident, but a hailstorm
           descended, delaying our bags.

                                                             Forty minutes.
                                    One hour.

When we got into the Town Car, both the driver and his
           wife’s well-timed pot roast were burning.

When he started driving, the baby started screaming.

                                    She wouldn’t stop screaming.

The label peeking from below the driver’s cap left a red mark
           on his scalp. We were the worst people
                                                             he had ever known.