[Betty] had steadily increased the speed again until the indicator kept constantly around the forty-five mile mark. The speed was terrific and made conversation almost impossible.
"We ought to make it easily," [McCarthy] yelled. "You're a heroine. But hadn't you better rest? You must be tired," he screamed over the noise of the car.
"Arms are cramped," she replied, without lifting her eyes from the road ahead.
Fourteen miles in 21 minutes? Big deal. My Ford Escort can do that. (Credits: Kenny Rogers appears courtesy of this site, the name of which means "looking for my feet" in Spanish; shaky speedometer by Henry Lim (his other photos are great too); Cramps concert poster from Filmmaker: The Magazine of Independent Filmmaking; and I have no idea where I got the picture of the arm-abusing nurses.)
Update: Last week's Jimmy Kirkland adventure here.
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