I arrive at the gas station, searching for an easy escape. But only vehicles I have never driven lie in the parking spots. A truck made of cracking glass. A fishbowl, filled to the brim with murky green algae. A green crystal motorcycle, dim in the moonlight. And a colorful bubble. I’ve heard bubbles aren’t that bad to fly. It’s likely the least expansive, beside that nasty fishbowl. I can’t breathe underwater anyway. I slide into the thin, soapy, bubble, sit on the comfy seat, and carefully place my fingers on the wheel. I push the ON button. The vehicle changes to a marble turquoise, then I hold the lever up. The ground dissolves beneath me, and so do the sirens of the on coming police. Just in time. I glide away, careful not to pop.