Zale's eyes burst open. Initial attempts at moving his rigidly stiff neck fail; it is only after much coaxing from his sweaty hands that he's able to straighten it. The only rational explanation is a sad one: he must've spent the whole night sleeping with his head pressed against the window of his car, currently doubling as his home.
"What the hell!" comes a booming yell from outside. He knows the source all too well, the deep voice belongs to a parking attendant who's made a hobby of hassling him. His strong chin, dark eyes, and height make Zale feel inadequate in his presence, a fact that makes his cavalier attitude that much more annoying.
"This is the third time I've found you here. I'm gonna call the cops," he says, banging his hand incessantly on the window.
"Sorry man, I'm movin'," Zale retorts. He snorts as he jumps into the driver's seat of his mid-90's station wagon and pulls out of the ten car parking lot. He yearns to get back to the previous night's dream. Those violent dreams are so much more fantastical and fun than his actual life. He speeds through the deserted early morning streets of the city and rubs his neck again in an ill-fated attempt to try and relax his muscles.
As the buildings fly by he wishes he didn't have to stay in the city, with the barren peacefulness of the desert lying just outside its sprawling grasp, looking like a welcoming escape. As he drives mindlessly, a flash of light explodes so brightly it nearly blinds him. It's more than just a light though, it's a glimpse of something so great he can neither see nor focus on anything else. The world slows, his surroundings disappear, and the front of his beloved wagon smashes into the car in front of him.
"What were you thinking?!" the other driver yells as he heads towards Zale's car. Zale just drops his head down onto his horn. He lets the sound of the horn drown out the man's annoying voice. His mind is only concentrating on two things, sleep and the bright light that caused this whole thing. The heat radiating from the early morning sun and the stillness of the air have always been able to calm him and help him think. Unfortunately, the man yelling about the damages to his precious car is so intrusive even a loud horn and the hot sun can't silence him. The light again nearly blinds him, but he pushes through the pain in his retinas, and uses all his strength to focus on the source, which reveals itself as a beautiful and radiating woman. He can't make out her full features, but he knows he has to meet her.
The man's slamming fist on the hood of his car breaks him out of his gazing.
"Get out!" Zale decides to comply and gets out of his car, coming to stand within inches of the irate man, whose loose tie and sweaty dress shirt make Zale wonder if he ever went home last night. Zale looks past him, trying his best to focus on the glowing woman. Luckily, yelling never bothers him; he grew up in a loud family and shouting at him achieves nothing, a fact this man surely doesn't know, judging by the amount of expletives flying from his lips.
"Don't make me ask you again, come see what you did to my car. And how is a bum..." the man continues as Zale forces himself into reality and away from the disappearing ball of light absorbing all of his attention. He finally manages to listen, and looks down to see the damage his boat of a car inflicted. It's nothing more than a scratch on the man's Mercedes, but still, Zale decides to resolve the situation before the man can get even more pissed.
"You better be prepared to pay for all the damage, idiot. And I'm willing to bet you don't even have insurance, do you? Huh? Well do you?" The man spurts through cracked lips before Zale can respond.
"I'll give you five hundred bucks if you shut up," Zale says, already reaching into his wallet.
"Oh, you think I'm going to take your drug money? I bet you don't want the police involved, afraid of what they'll find in that thing you call a car," the man responds.
"You think they'd side with a drunk driver?" Zale retorts. The man balks visibly.
"How dare you threaten me!" the man yells. Zale almost takes the offer back. His attempts to fully support himself as a writer are not succeeding, partially because he doesn't have the prerequisite talent, and five hundred dollars is a lot of money. That money is supposed to last the next two weeks, but the man is right, his insurance ran out months ago.
"I can smell it on your breath!"
"I bet you got drugs in that car!" the man yells. He's right again so Zale relents.
"Do you want the money or not dude?" Zale says as he pulls the money out of his wallet and hands it to the man. Zale gets back in his car quickly and drives off before the guy can refuse. In a heartbeat the only image he can remember from the whole incident is the blazing woman. An ideal and picture are now firmly embedded in his mind. Even the fact that he has to fast for the rest of the week, or - maybe more importantly- not smoke any weed, is unimportant to him. He flees for the desert, plagued by an unknown angel.