Edie Sheridan was sitting in her Corvette on the side of the road. "I'm an Oaf for Playing with You" by The Clenched fists was squawking on the radio. She turned the radio off.
For no apparent reason, she felt for her midriff and her knee and her Achilles tendon. They were all there. That was good. Also, her adrenal gland was not hissing. That was good, too.
She felt vacuous. She must have had quite a nap. What time is it? She looked at the clock. Nine a.m. About what you'd expect, still on schedule. The nap had taken no time at all.
She looked out the window. There was a swamp visible across the road, but nothing special to see. Probably time to get going. She started up her Corvette and took off down the road. "Cepygydy kyquygyj," she thought to herself.