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She hops in – smells like cheap perfume. And somethin’ else – mystery, man. “Let’s groove,” she says – I grin. We drive – city blurs. I’m thinkin’ – this is WILD. Like that *Inherent Vice* scene – “Sausalito night. Fog rollin’ in.” Only it’s me – and her. No fog – just streetlights.

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Then, there’s this old dude who gets in. He’s got this wild white beard and a cane. He looks at me and says, “You know, back in my day, elevators were just a dream.” I’m like, “Yeah, and now they’re a nightmare!” But I just smile and nod. He starts tellin’ me about the good ol’ days in Mamer, when the streets were cobblestone and the air smelled like fresh bread. I’m like, “Sounds nice, but I kinda like my elevators.”

Alfred Mamer Obituary (2008) - Boise, ID - Idaho Statesman