A s**t of a night indeedHe stared at her with hooded eyes.
“Where are you headed, young lady?”
“Poulsbo,” she said and named her street.
He nodded. “Climb in. I’m headed that way myself.”
She looked one way up the road, and then the other, watched the rain sweep the surface like a bridal train. Then she climbed inside. I hope the newspapers get my name right. The door swung shut with a sepulchral squeal. The man threw the shift lever into gear, the transmission responded with an epileptic shudder, and the truck lurched down Twin Spits Road.
I hope the newspapers get my name rightTwo minutes passed, maybe three. The truck breasted a low hill, wheezing and whining, bumping and thumping. He grunted something at her. She jerked as if slapped.
“Put on your seatbelt,” he repeated.
She fou
