3340. Bluto’s truck was a standard shift. It had one windshield wiper
instead of two. The windshield was divided into two sections and my side
had a crack in it.
3341. On the floor in front of the drivers seat, sticking out from the
floor was the clutch, the brake and the accelerator, all shiny metal
with no rubber covers over them.
3342. There was a big crooked shift lever which ended on the floor in a
pile of grease. There was something peculiar about those pedals and the
shifter; it was all very dumb and makeshift looking, dirty and crooked,
and it was impossible to imagine that any of it would actually work.
3343. Bluto got into the truck. He didn’t say anything to me as if I wasn’t even there. He stuck a little key in a hole in the dash over by my knees. Then he pushed the clutch down to the floor, turned the key and the engine came on like a shaking box of rocks covered in grease.