The hitcher jabbed a finger on the button on the radio panel. Tinny pot music blurted out from the speakers. The driver stared at his passenger, his question unasked. They drove on through storm, down the snaking lanes. An hour later, the storm still growled and raged. A man was rambling on with himself about the change in days. His wheely bins were emptied. Where can i drop you asked the driver. When the driver glanced round, his passenger had his eyes closed. He was either asleep or feigning slumber. What do you do for a living? Asked the driver. Is there no music we could listen to? I