My friend Monte from years ago has invented this thing that you put your hand in. It's like a square box, with one side cut away and filled with a pale, smooth rubbery substance, and a curved crack in it. He explains that when you put your hand in, it feels like... some word that is unfamiliar (ok, one probably thinks that the obvious implication is women's genitalia, but I'm not sure of that). He invites me to stick my hand in it, but I don't think I really want to feel that whatever-it-is.

Monte and I are employed in some illegal business. Our boss takes us somewhere in a car; I'm in the passenger seat Monte in the back. I'm starting to get suspicious that we're going to get killed; they're done with us, and we know too much. As we round a corner on a country road, the road ends abruptly in blackberry bushes, and he stops the car. He reaches quickly under the dash on the passenger side - right in front of my knees - where he has hidden two powerful weapons. "Run, Monte!" I yell out, as I grab for the door latch, but it doesn't do anything, like modern cars do when they're locked. There's no way out.