Cudney was losing steam, bumbling and stumbling like something substantial had gone inside a shoe or he'd kicked off a couple of toes and wasn't adjusting so well to the digit loss. He looked like a marathon runner shedding energy precipitously, and that gorgeous golden goal, the ribbon, might go unbroken. A car beeped. Jagging right, Cudney roared something over his shoulder. Soon as he cleared the space in question, a car backed up, taillights red, and Leonard minded all the open space on his right, adjusting, thumping past rear car bumpers, keeping clear of the driver, Cudney's new pal, shifting into drive, all open mouth and glaring into their rearview at the winnowing Cudney silhouette, ejaculating who knows what provocative proverbs to the benefit of their otherwise empty car cab.