“Sunset side,” he replied. “Livermore with some no-talkums, no-peekums.”
“Wouldn’t haul that s**t,” my good buddy, Hillbilly Dawson, another long hauler, contributed. “Never know when you’re towing the big blast around on your ass. Or some mean-s**t bugs.”
“Naw,” Wayne shook his head. “You gotta be special cleared for that crap. And they provide security. Pay’s good, though.”
“Pay ain’t everthang,” Hillbilly observed dryly.
“Just the reason we do this miserable job,” someone else put in.
Interested in this new trucker, whom I judged to be on the sunny side of thirty, I challenged Wayne to a game of pool, watching closely as he swiveled through the crowd to the billiard tables.
Don’t know if you’ve ever noticed it, but there’s a kind of cocoon around a pool table where the players hav
