in the life of the secret spy.
In the darkness, the keys slipped into my hand. I donned secret spy glasses, small and rimmed in black. Quietly, I started the car. (I know how to do it now without feeling the thing’s going to take off like a rocket. I used to have the same feeling about electric typewriters.)

The car, once started, was mine. I edged onto the road, which was lit by the car’s HEADLIGHTS and by STREET LIGHTS. The parking lot glowed and so, I dare say, did I.

There were few cars. People are good enough to stay out of parking lots and off quiet streets late in the evening. So we purred along… and then we were home.

I said I HOPE YOU ARE PROUD OF ME. I HAVE NIGHT MYOPIA.
He said C’MERE. YOU ARE MYOPIA, MY ONE AND ONLY OPIA.