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because of his double vision, but the car was still weaving down the road, crossing over
into the
oncoming lane. Fortunately, there weren't any other cars on the highway.
Niebold's eyelids drooped momentarily, he shook himself awake, looked back at the road,
glanced casually to his right. His puffy eyes widened.
He was staring at a profuse column of bubbles rising into the early morning sky a great
away. The bubbles were reflecting the early morning rays of sunlight and looked like
thousands of tiny
sparkling suns rising upward into a sapphire sky. The sight so awestruck the tipsy driver,
he forgot he
was behind the wheel of a car. The station wagon swerved, spun off the road, and came to
a rest upside
down. A moment later, Niebold stuck his head out, looked around, and crawled out as the
Disk Jocky
continued his harangue: "Lines are still open for that call-in vote: Pro-Domers use 555-
1231, No-
Domers use 555-1232, and watch your language, folks, my kids Sarah and Janice are
A little while later, a Sheriff's patrol car and a tow-truck pulled up to find Niebold
sleeping on
the road beside his overturned vehicle. As the tow-truck driver hooked up the Pinto, the
Sheriff, a tall,
leather-faced 45 year-old Chiricahua Apache named Goyathlay Terrell, awakened
Niebold and began
instructing the weary drunk in the intricacies of walking a straight line. As he negotiated
the mark,
Niebold was trying to explain to Sheriff Terrell the reason for his accident by pointing in
the direction
of the bubbles. The Sheriff looked over and saw a bungalow a quarter mile away. The sky
above was
clear and blue.
When the Sheriff looked back, Niebold had fallen and was lying on his back on the
staring blankly at the sky. Terrell helped the woozy driver to his feet and into his patrol
car. As the
squad car sped away, the faint sounds of a trumpet playing Ravel's Bolero could be heard
piercing the
clear desert air.
The white stucco bungalow had an old-world charm. It could have been a Swiss chalet or