Lurching toward Berwyn

It had been the roughest flight he could remember, which was probably why it took Riley awhile to notice the lurching once the taxi got on the expressway. The Jesus freak at the wheel gunned the old Ford up to 65 and then left it coast fitfully back to 55 or so before hitting the gas again. She gripped the wheel with both hands, occasionally peeling one off to flounce her washed-out red hair. Or for punctuation.

They've got some pretty nice churches out in Berwyn, she said, jabbing the air on the last word. Riley said he supposed they did.

She went on to relate the history of a corporate executive turned pastor while Riley counted the exits. She gave him a hellfire tract with his change and wished him a cheery good day. He piled it with the accumulated bills and junk mail on the dining room table and crawled into bed.

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