Dictated by an overcast gloom and a low hung blanket of gray above, Garry, The aluminum snail met his fate. Death came slow. A fast turn sent him flying from the dash to the jumble of other forgotten nick-nacks and wads of fast-food left overs on the carpeted floor. The pressing rubbery flesh of worn chucks came crushing down over Garry's smooth antennas. He was fully aware of his precious existence. God had plans for Garry. Grace caused his fall but Whitney's lack of attention caused his torture. There he laid mangled and abused in the silence of the SUV where he lived for a bit of a few days. The twenty five cent Wal-Mart crane machine would yield Calay, the lime green Giraffe. Calay would replace Garry, but will be replace by many to come. This systematic order was the routine of Whitney's Dashboard.