Apr 29, 2020
2 min read
Westward
Duncan laughs at me in silent hysterics. I pull my pants up and make my way back to the car, fighting the headlights. He follows, aping my covered face with hand in an exaggerated way. I’d have them drive off without him but he’s got the cash for our next meal, I hope. It would be like him to not have it, to have forgotten it in all the scrambling and dodging about and quick clean up. Enough normalcy to allow us out of town and over the one bridge is all we needed.
