Ciro Sciurini zipped down the B-class lane on the<br />
freeway, wind whipping through his short brown hair and tugging at<br />
the white tufts at the tips of his ears. Behind his seat, his bushy<br />
brown-gray squirrel tail flew straight back like a flag over the<br />
trunk. His sunglasses, which glinted a bent reflection of the<br />
peachy-pink sunset ahead of him, hid his eyes, but there was no<br />
hiding the broad smile on his face.<br />
His car was only an A-class, of course - he wouldn't<br />
have been tall enough to reach the