£18000. That's all it would take. But it was more than Charles had, that was certain. He gazed in wonder at that glossy, dog-eared magazine page. Awe, even. He had been looking at that same page every morning for the past fourteen years and with a sigh he would fold the mag shut and let it sit on his lap and lean his head back and rock. The rocking chair had belonged to his father. That was the only thing of his father's that he ever got. The cancer got him, a few years earlier. The rest of the family wealth was transferred to his older brother Stanley. But £18000! That's all! And there was his most significant material aspiration, still waiting. The seats were still untouched, the leather fresh and full of a fantastic scent. The wheel was still gleaming. He could feels his hands around it. He was on the road now. Until...