It was a hot afternoon on the limit of the desert when my car decided it was over. It announced its departure with a thick cloud of white smoke. The hood, the metal, everything was too hot to be checked. I couldn't do anything. So I took off my shirt and I lit a cigarette. Whom could I curse for my condition? The range of alternatives was wide.
Suddenly a red convertible appeared on the horizon. The car pulled over and a beautiful curly girl got out. She crossed the road and told me: "Nice to meet you, I'm Sammy Grand, your insurer. I see your car's broken down. Unfortunately I don't know anything about mechanics and I can't help you. I just made a phone call and the tow truck should arrive in half an hour. I wish I could be more helpful. Wait a moment: maybe I can do a little thing for you."
She took two steps away from me and pulled up her shirt. Then she throwed to me her bra. She smiled mischievously, she walked to her car and she drove away, like a dream in sight of dawn.
