That gets Stan to move his head. It's hard, like it weighs more than it used to, but the comedown - or shock or, you know, whatever-the-fuck - is the last thing he's got to worry about right now so until it looks like he's got to make a run for it, this whole 'it takes ten grown men to move a pinky finger' feeling that's starting to spread out all heavy and thick through Stan's body is a-ok with him. So he'll just move slow, he'll just start blinking hard and, kinda' gradually, looking more and more like what he really wants to do is go to sleep right here, with the car rumbling under him - that other car didn't sound like this, it was old and it ran old and it sounded old, that's why it only took teeth and a whole bunch of dead tastebuds to make a way out of it.

He blinks at Ford, slowly. Where was he? Oh, yeah. The car rumbling under him, his brother's voice in his ear. It's real nice. It wouldn't be so bad, going to sleep to that. There was somethin' weird about one of those things, though. Something weird.

"Oh, yeah. I remember what I was thinkin' now. You're still doin' that worry thing." Stan wiggles in the seat a little, trying to inch himself up so he don't slide down in the seat so much, and ducks his head away from that vision with its six-fingered hands around that steering wheel. "Cut it out. It's too- It's too real. Or it ain't real enough. I don't know. I don't know, I can't, 's hard to think." He presses the heel of a hand against his forehead but holding it up takes too much, it gets heavy real quick so he lets it flop back down, not caring whether it lands hard against the door beside him. "What was, uh- Old Man and the Sea? Lemme' guess it's, uh, it's about an old guy. And the sea. See? 's like I, uh, like I know all about it already."