Al shrugged and started nosing around the controls of the van. “All sounds good ta me either way. Speakin’ from my own experience, a body can plan till the cows come home, things gon’ go ta shit when they go ta shit, an’ it ain’t never in the way ya thunk. Plannin’ past a certain point’s nothin’ but a quick path to a false sense o’ security an’ a narrow view o’ the unfoldin’ possibilities. So ol’ Al’s jist gon’ be zen, baby.”

Satisfied the controls of the van held no aftermarket surprises, he stepped out of the van and, remembering his manners, turned his back on the ladies before relieving himself into the gravel lot. He continued speaking over his shoulder as he did his business, his tobacco-ravaged voice like a gearbox full of broken glass. “Reckon Jazz wants me drivin’, I’m drivin’. Precious here, I mean Miss Jones, she’s Agent Rafferty’s corporate keeper. Check. Who else comes along an’ who does they thing from where they do it, well, y’all know fer yerselves how you’ll be most useful….See-Threepio there take voice commands?”