The billboard was a bright beacon in the clear noon distance, a smooth palm raised upright and alone as in benediction far up along the highway in the long yellow air among the dormant fields and ruined homesteads. When they reached it, Legerdemain steered to the right side of the road and stopped the car.

He stepped out to perambulate a long loop across the road's wide center lane, weaving his steps among the broken white lines, then strolled back toward the vehicle with his arms raised skyward, pulling his triceps with each opposing hand, one then the other, hands lolling to either side of his sleek head, each biceps in turn compressing the head's shock of black cowlicks. Just as he reached the vehicle's driver's side door he stopped and flung himself forward from his waist, swinging both arms down to touch with his fingertips upon the surface of the cracked, grey asphalt in front of his alloy-tipped boots. Then he stood upright.

The troll had awakend from a sprawling slumber across the vehicle's back seats to unfurl himself from the rear passenger's side door and shuffle off toward the ditch, where he loosened his trousers and opened them to execute a piss of great volume and duration before shambling back to stand alongside the vehicle.

The troll and the cyborg stood for a moment in the warm sunlight, regarding each other lightly over the blue convertible's black canvas roof before each turning his eyes upward to the sheer white expanse of the billboard with its message inscribed in black.

In giant lettering, the sign read:

FAST IS SLOW, SLOW IS FAST

"Bullshit," said the cyborg Legerdemain.

Nipwilliger stood pulling his beard, his eyes lingering upon the massive words. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I mean, I can see what they mean, but what's the point?"

"Fuckin' animals," muttered the cyborg.