He mumbled something to himself, and a minute later suspected that he may have actually said something he’d want to remember.  He chased his thoughts backwards while speeding on down the road.  The last thing in his mind had been an image of a boy and a ball on a beach.  Just before that he had driven through a puddle in which he had for an instant caught a flash of the sun, and had before that unpeeled an orange with his teeth. He could see himself lining up these events on a string of time, and in his head he heard, The aim of every straight line is a point to stop at.  That was it! — his earlier mumble — come to him whole — as if to explain why he was now looking for a place to stop at for a bite.