It was on earth, of course, set in the backhills of Wisconsin, several miles from Ladysmith. Ackerman wanted to roam the roadways, and possibly gaze upon one of the handy lakes and wish fervently that he was not trapped in a no-world where he could do nothing but fume.
A car came up behind him, and he stopped to watch. It was not a phantom car of the real world, but a 'time-space' car of his unreal existance. Joan Laplane leaned out. "Ride," she stated; "gets farther and leaves energy to enjoy whatever you're seeking."
"Okay," he said. "What I want to do, I guess, is to ride through a city and watch people."
"That's masochism," she told him.
"Perhaps," he nodded. "But it's also a matter of frustration; I'll ride if you'll drive this hickey through traffic."
"Right through," she said with a cheerful laugh.
It was rather hair-raising, to Les. The girl drove well, but downright recklessly. That is, until he remembered that they could drive through any other car in motion.
Joan Laplane drove through other cars to pass them, and at one time she enjoyed driving on the left side of the road through a careening coupe that was racing towards them. It gave Ackerman a thrill and, in a sense, helped him to relax.
Then they were in the town of Ladysmith, a minute metropolis of about ten thousand people, but large enough in relation to the other towns in the vicinity to be the county seat. Joan brazenly selected a fine parking place in between two No Parking signs in front of the city hall, and backed her car through the cars of two of the local politicians who were nepotically disregarding the signs.
"That'll show 'em," she said with a grin.