I’ve never woke up with my head in a horse’s feed bucket but then again, I’ve never had a night like that one in Alabama.
I was making an Ocala run, heading down to Leprechaun Farms with two mares and a foal. The boss down there, Marcus Denton, is one of the few who doesn’t subcontract out his trucking so he keeps three of us drivers on staff to haul his horses to the racetracks and other farms. Marcus and I had a thing when we were in our early twenties, lasted about a year, but he got mighty tired of me being on the road twenty-five days of the month. And hell, I was a horny kid back then, and didn’t see any harm in popping what I could on the road. Had nothin’ to do with Marcus being at home, waiting for me.
Ah well, I can’t lie. They don’t call me Robby the Knob for my good looks.
