I’m driving, Jodi is my passenger. We’re white knuckled, but confident. The siren is screaming behind us, though it’s disappearing quickly in the rear-view. The wind is whipping through the side windows across the elevated highway. We’re in Chicago, I think. I glance down at the speedometer. It says 230mph! I’m astonished that the mid-eighties Ford LTD can go that fast.
We approach some stopped traffic. Great, a jam. I squeeze my way between rows, stradling the dashed lines. We brace for the impact when I see the car won’t fit much longer. We’ve lost the siren behind us. I have this sense we haven’t fully escaped yet, but I’m not sure why.
Then I woke up.