ALAN
I’m terrible. After a tender moment like that, all I can think of is f*****g.
Still, we’re less than two hours away from ending this voyage—and after that, there’s plenty of time to consummate the relationship. My blue balls have been practically exploding since I met her: so damn many hesitations and interruptions. That’s almost over.
I just have to be patient.
Crossing into Canada is more intricate than expected, simply because many of the back roads are closed for the winter. We settle for the crossing at Trout River, far enough away from 87. It takes about half an hour extra to get there, but we spend it well, talking about the best kind of nothing.
“Favorite food?” I ask her as we ease down a slushy road that hasn’t been plowed in three days.
“Cheeseburgers.” She’s looking
