At last, in the dim hours of the early morning, Too’s cousin Jackie was packed and ready to hit the road. Both climbed into the front of Jackie’s car. Jackie instructed the auto, “Car-car, Mardi Gras!”. The car retrieved the already-planned route from storage, thought to itself for a moment, then announced “Route ready”. “GO!” said Jackie. The auto pulled out of Jackie’s garage and headed up US Route 127 towards Lawrenceburg.
About a mile short of town, the car signaled a right turn off the main highway, and graveled down a chip-and-seal farm road to George’s house. Twin lines of silver maple trees enbraced the drive, the canopy above forming a trellis arch illumined by the car’s headlights. It seemed to Too that they were traveling through a tunnel.
George, and George’s companion Leda, were waiting on the porch of the farmhouse. Each were dressed for the road, George in light hunting fatigues, and Leda in a simple black dress with a smart peacoat buttoned against the Kentucky cold of early March. Leda was from Lexington and George was home grown, from Anderson County.” Too thought to herself: “Opposites attract.”