"GRAVEL could be here" he thought, "I've never been in this quarry before. There could be GRAVEL anywhere. The cool wind felt good against his open jacket. "I HATE NIGGERS" he thought. Shitty African Radio Music reverberated his entire car, making it pulsate even as the $9 alcohol circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) hatred of black people. "Without a road you can't really go anywhere you want" he said to himself, out loud.