![](\"http:\/\/images.cdn.fotopedia.com\/flickr-3574817229-original.jpg\")
Photo by Snap Man<\/a>. Powered by Fotopedia<\/a><\/br><\/p>\n
South Dakota. The sun is a blank white fire rolling across the sky. H. and I are squatted at an underpass, watching swallows swoop to their nests while the cars pass by, oblivious. It’s ninety degrees in the shade.<\/p>\n
An hour of this is fine. (No, it’s not.) And now we’re going on several without a ride. This is no place to be. Finally a battered Ford sedan staggers to a stop and the driver leans over to talk to us, the rolled down windows his only air conditioning. <\/p>\n
“You going to Sioux Falls?” I ask casually, trying not to look desperate. He’s in his forties but looks older. Older and harder, with a two day beard, rumpled hair, stained shirt. <\/p>\n
“Is that on the way to Chicago?” <\/p>\n
“Yes. You going that far?”<\/p>\n
“Well, let me tell you,” he replies. “I’m drunk.” <\/p>\n
H. asks him the essential question. The question of the hour, if not the day. “You mind if we drive?”<\/p>\n
“Ok,” he says. “I’m real tired.”<\/p>\n
He slides to the passenger side, H. settling between us, me driving. Barely underway and out comes a pint. “Do you want some whiskey?” “No.” “Do you mind if I do?” “No.” Bottle to his mouth, he takes a straight shot. My mouth burns just watching. <\/p>\n
The car has problems. It doesn’t seem able to hit more than fifty. Ok, then, we’ll settle into the slow lane. That’s when I notice the gas gauge reads “empty.” No, he tells us, it’s broken. “When it’s full, it reads half a tank.” He leans over to check it himself, making sure to glance his arm across H.’s breasts as he goes by. She squirms. <\/p>\n
“We got 150 miles in it easy,” he proclaims on the way back to his perch. H. sneaks me a look. It says, “he did it again.” Asshole. He’s already back at the whiskey. Tells us he’s glad to have the company. Offers us money. Passes out, his head awkward against the door jamb. <\/p>\n
Photo by Snap Man<\/a>. Powered by Fotopedia<\/a><\/br><\/p>\n