by William Goldman
The gold Oldsmobile sped along the blacktop of King’s Island Drive, Doug gripping the gold steering wheel and humming tunelessly while Mallory fiddled with the gold air vent near the side mirror. They’d been on the road since breakfast. Mallory had eaten an Egg McMuffin sandwich; Doug had wolfed down two, with a side of hash browns, and now seemed agitated and aloof.
Mallory felt fine, but for the regret of not ordering a second McMuffin. His stomach growled gently, and he reached out one gleaming gold hand and flipped on the radio, which emitted an unpleasant detuned country music station. Doug and Mallory winced at the sound, for gold men are seldom patient with trivial imperfections.