Marvin Baines was not one to be easily fooled. He was reckless, but in a cautious way. He determined to hold his silence on the talking for the time being. He would have to be absolutely certain this time before he went about telling his story.

He took his yellow Mazda wagon out for an early afternoon spin. His windows unrolled all the way; his left elbow leaning out the door; his frame resting luxuriously against his vinyl seat cover; the wind whipping his hair about his head; his eyes focused through his not-so-dark sun-glasses, on the road ahead; his radio turned up loud to the station that played only country classics from the fifties and sixties, blaring out the tunes he loved so; his car churning along at thirty miles an hour in the fifty-five mile an hour zone--Marvin Baines was king. King of himself. Of his feelings. He was happier than can be.

And the sky overhead kind of blue, the breeze rather cool, the music good. Everything was perfect. The way Baines liked it. A relaxing drive in the country was real life. It was living, the way living should be. For Baines. Just Baines, his car, and his music--and of course the breeze, and the lovely landscape. That's all he needed to be really content in the moment.

The singer on the radio was telling Baines about how he, a lonely man, had stepped into a bar and had met a delectable little woman, whom he had shared a drink and a dance with; but then, just as he and the woman were about to leave the bar together, the man had suddenly looked down at his hand and he had seen the wedding band on his finger. 

A classic! thought Marvin Baines. A real classic!