ralph jones drove the battered truck through the foggy night.
many things had happened since ralph had last touched base with headquarters.
ralph had expected more from the great conflict, but had so far been bitterly disappointed.
smiling pete martin had faithfully befriended ralph many years ago.
many thoughtless people thought pete resembled a wombat.
even though they had no clear idea of what a wombat looked like, or how large it was, or what its diet was.
ralph and pete, in their younger days, had dreamed of being kings of the world.
tony brown, another fast and faithful friend, would have settled for being king of the night.
what can you expect, with things being the way they are?
the fog got thicker.
i have lost my way, ralph thought belatedly and bitterly.
his faithful dog, ernie, slept peacefully beside him on the front seat of the truck as it made its tentative way through the increasingly dense fog.
i wish i could see a hitchhiker or some other wanderer in the night, ralph thought morosely, he might help me know just exactly where i am.
but it was not to be.
hitchhiking had been frowned upon, if mot actively prohibited, throughout the so-called civilized world for many years.
we will just have to slog along, right, old buddy, ralph opined half-heartedly to ernie.
but ernie did not respond.
perhaps because he was dreaming.
suddenly ralph saw a light up ahead.
he did not know whether to feel relieved or apprehensive.
this is it, he thought confusedly, this is where the rabbit meets the road.
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