which was full of cigarette ashes dropped by her dissipated friends. Now, when she goes driving, the rumble is full of chickens, enjoying the air. There isn't even room for a package of cigarettes on the front seat, because it's crowded with fresh vegetables, from the stalls along the roads near Farmingdale. . . . .
And if the story has really been a success, and is told in a drowsy tone, to the rhyming hum of the car, Blythe is now asleep. She doesn't wake up until the Dean hits that bump at the bottom of the home driveway.
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