"Turn your goddamn lights on! That's it, take it easy, turn onto the freeway there at the on-ramp. Where the hell're you going, Jim?" "Sorry," said Jimmy, clenching his teeth to control the quiver in his chin. Sweating. Cold. Lightheaded. Panicked. "What's the matter with you?" "Nothin. I got bad eyes. I should wear my glasses." "Well turn around and go back." "Okay." "Get on the freeway and go to the Long Beach sign." "Okay." They were speeding down the freeway, the clutch finally catching up with the engine. Jimmy was studying the road, blinking into headlights, watching the off-ramp signs. He drove past the off-ramp. "Jimmy, goddamnit, you did it again!" "Well don't yell at me, Greg. It's my eyes." "Okay, take the next turnoff. We'll do another market. Let's see, we got that Safeway there on Whittier, so next we go to Long Beach and take another, then we return to the vicinity of the first job and take another one. Or we do a liquor store or something." "Why back in the vicinity of the first job, Greg?
