Midday sun shone through the windshield and sparkled in the tiny pits that time had left in the glass. The Tennessee landscape was as pretty as a postcard, and a temperate breeze advised Boyd that he was getting much closer to home. Gone was the sticky humidity of the south-western coast, gone was the overpowering heat of the desert it had given way to, and in their place was the land of May flowers and June skies. Spring had sprung with a feverous joy in the state, and Boyd made up his mind right then and there that whenever his day finally came, if it ever did, that Tennessee seemed like a damn nice retirement spot.
They’d pulled off the interstate to get gas and found a convenience store that had what appeared to Boyd to be mutated ATMs, and used them to place enormous orders of horrib
