A tuned out guy... a turned on doll... and a psychosexual police car on the prowl... First it is an undertone, subtle and tentative, honking and choking behind the blunt clamor of the klaxon fugue... Then it is a harmony, gliding erotically against the subdued roar of the wet midnight street... Now it is a counterpoint, seductively retracing the melody, reclaiming its elegance from the urban ensemble... And finally a voice, growling and caressing a language beyond human comprehension--yet rife with meaning, both universal and transcendent... There'll be hell to pay.