Eddie smoked his last cigarette somewhere in the outskirts of Pittsburgh. But he doesn’t stop for a hit of relief. Pedal to the metal, he crones to the air. In this part of southern nowhere the dial offers only the cold comfort of religion and golden oldies. Soon, as in the next fifty miles, he’ll see the first lights of the city. He hums the Carly Simon song and pictures thick ketchup kissing the lip of the bottle.