With some miracles performed at customs, and a blessedly shorter plane ride than anticipated, Aziraphale is now sitting in the passenger's side of the Bentley, somehow now flipped to the other side. He smiles as he looks out the window and sees the vast expanse of the Pacific off the coast of Malibu, just like it had been in his dream.

In fact, there he was, wearing a souvenir t-shirt they'd bought at a gas station somewhere, eating an ice lolly (they call those "popsicles" here, how fascinating) and having put on one of those ridiculous bucket-y fishing hats that seem to be present on all American tourists.

He even tried out the accent, though after having greeted a diner waitress with a very embarrassing "Howdy," he hung up his hat and decided not to continue.

Fitting, that most of the hotels they've sauntered into have so far believed them to be on a honeymoon and sent up gifts for them. But throughout all the care packages, the ones he likes most are the little bottles of shampoo; somewhere, in the back, he has a whole bag full of them.

All in all, he was having a good time, turns to his driver and looks at him like he lights up the entire world instead of the sun.