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Or
if
I
am
Tyler
's
dream
.
I
sniff
the
gasoline
on
my
hands
.
There
's
nobody
else
around
,
and
I
get
up
and
walk
out
to
the
parking
lot
.
A
guy
in
fight
club
works
on
cars
so
he
's
parked
at
the
curb
in
soma
body
's
black
Corniche
,
and
all
I
can
do
is
look
at
it
,
all
black
and
gold
,
this
huge
cigarette
case
ready
to
drive
me
somewhere
.
This
mechanic
guy
who
gets
out
of
the
car
tells
me
not
to
worry
,
he
switched
the
plates
with
another
car
in
the
long-term
parking
lot
at
the
airport
.
Our
fight
club
mechanic
says
he
can
start
anything
.
Two
wires
twist
out
of
the
steering
column
.
Touch
the
wires
to
each
other
,
you
complete
the
circuit
to
the
starter
solenoid
,
you
got
a
car
to
joyride
.
Either
that
,
or
you
could
hack
the
key
code
through
a
dealership
.
Three
space
monkeys
are
sitting
in
the
back
seat
wearing
their
black
shirts
and
black
pants
.
See
no
evil
.
Hear
no
evil
.
Speak
no
evil
.
I
ask
,
so
where
's
Tyler
?
The
fight
club
mechanic
guy
is
holding
the
Cadillac
open
chauffeur
style
for
me
.
The
mechanic
is
tall
and
all
bones
with
shoulders
that
remind
you
of
a
telephone
pole
crossbar
.
I
ask
,
are
we
going
to
see
Tyler
?
Waiting
for
me
in
the
middle
of
the
front
seat
is
a
birthday
cake
with
candles
ready
to
be
lit
.
I
get
in
.
We
start
driving
.
