>"chamaars could be here" he thought, "I've never been in this neighborhood before. There could be CHAMAARS anywhere." The cool wind felt good against his bare chest. "I HATE CHAMAARS" he thought. Sweet Dreams are Made of These reverberated his entire car, making it pulsate even as the $9 wine circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) fear of majorities after dark. "With a car, you can go anywhere you want" he said to himself, out loud.