Last fall, when I took my first ride in the backseat of Teddy’s Delta 88, it got kind of wild. At one point we were engulfed in Marilyn Manson fans headed for the Aragon; at another we were surrounded by Chicago cops playing their flashlights around the car and wanting to know if we’d heard shots. This time things went a little more smoothly. No swarming fans, no crime scenes. Just the drama in the front seat, where Teddy and his fellow loser, Carl, weighed their diminishing options while literally cruising the streets of Uptown. I was glad, actually, for the relative quiet; as cool as it had been to watch Michael Fosberg’s Teddy and Scott Hamilton Westerman’s Carl deal with big unscripted surprises, I’d come away from the first ride without much feeling for the production itself. Ralph Concepcion’s “play in a car” seemed like little more than a slim, if functional, excuse for an urban adventure. Now that I’ve taken the trip again, I still think the script’s pretty slim. But what’s there can be intense. I was especially struck, this time, by the poignancy of Carl’s helplessness, the quiet frenzy of a guy who simply can’t adapt to the way the world works. Of course, the less eventful ride also made it possible to discern some of the subtler dramas going on outside the Delta’s windows. One man with a terrible grimace, another sauntering down the street in a loud purple suit. Late in the show I noticed a couple with three very small children crossing Clarendon near Wilson. When they reached the other side they put the kids in a car, then stood next to it for the longest time, kissing and groping each other like teenagers at a dance. Wild. Audience is picked up in front of the Bailiwick Arts Center, 1229 W. Belmont; call 773-883-1090. Open run: Fridays-Saturdays, 7, 8:30, and 10 PM; Sundays, 5:30, 7, and 8:30 PM. $37.