As we drive deeper into the valleys, though, that radio station fizzes and goes out, and all we can find is a classic rock station playing “Imagine,” which is my mother’s enemy in song form. “Imagine there’s no heaven?” I don’t think so. “Imagine there’s no countries?” Then we would be France. Sure enough, one verse in and she becomes enraged. She shifts gears so murderously my organs all relocate one inch to the left.
