PROLOGUE: THE HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO THE UNITED STATES

I just love west coast highways.

They remind me of what it’s like to spend all day trapped in a cubicle, or working in closed quarters, then stepping out at five p.m. into the sunshine and open air. Twirling arms around and kicking up heels in newfound spaciousness.

I indulge in that same sense of unrestrained freedom as I gently turn the steering wheel, and the blue-black, four-door Saturn I’m driving glides from the passing lane all the way across to the right-hand side. An exit’s approaching – an unfortunate sign that my break from workaday stuffiness nears an end. This does not diminish, however, the current state of euphoria that comes from these broad noodle lanes; nor does the unconscious blonde in the backseat, with one arm stretched across her small chest, the other folded up over her head like she’s patting away a fly.

When I look at her through the rear-view mirror, I could swear that she’s posed like a flamenco dancer. The only thing that keeps me from chuckling is the thought that she might already be dead.

Then I realize how strange and unlikely this is. To think, only a year ago I was just a video store clerk working in Brooklyn. Now look where I am.

Oh, and did I mention that I’m also an alien visitor from another planet?

My name is Rupert. Something tells me I have a lot of explaining to do.