There are nights when I'm driving my Fiat 124 along the turnpike, and I've got the radio set 'way down near the end of the dial where the Cuban and the Puerto Rican stations come fading in and I'll pick up WWVA in Wheeling. I'll be driving along in the dark, along the 'pike, and there, drifting through the Birdies and harmonicas of the ghetto end of the radio dial, the sad, mournful wail of Merle Haggard sings about that good ol' hoy _ pumping gas at Harold's Super Service. Sometimes M'erle barely makes it through the hellfire and damnation barrage being laid down by Oral Roberts on a station riding fight in under WWVA.
"Last night I dreamed l died and went to Heaven . . . to that big Super Service in the sky . . ."