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“How are you aaaaall?”

The clown-like act had started, Peter, Corinne and the rest of the audience exploded with a Goooood!

Peter drove the rented caravan under a scorching sun. The PPC van was in the workshop, a joint of tricky mechanical matters had broken down, forcing them to temporarily rent a vehicle. The new purchase had a thin sliding glass hood, which by order of Mrs. Corinne, was forbidden to cover, close or do anything that prevented the passage of the sacred sun through that place.

“That way I'll get a wonderful tan,” she said with a big smile that illuminated her face, as she cheerfully put on her sunglasses.

Peter, grumpy with so much sun, tried to think of something else. They had given him the address of the guy they were going to visit. The receptionist at Kentucky City Hall was very efficient, taking only two hours to check the information on her computer. After the Great Smoke, with the death of most computer scientists, a happy consensus opened among the few computer connoisseurs left alive. Some of them whispered forbidden words like GÜINDOUS, IPONES, YAVA and a thousand other nonsense.