I found Wayne washing up out of his canteen in the men’s room of the rest stop. When they said unimproved, they meant it. The place was a glorified three-holer, a piss-s**t-and-get-the-hell-out kind of place.
“Trunk!” he exclaimed when I walked in, sorta talking through his nose.
“Thought that was your rig. How come you got no load?”
Wayne fled the smelly place, dragging me along in his wake. “Damned smash-up the other day put me off my schedule, and my return load had to go out right away. That put me deadheading to Phoenix. Company found me a load there.
“You an owner-driver?” I asked. He nodded glumly. That meant he didn’t get paid when he wasn’t hauling goods. “s**t! Tough luck. You be all right?”
“Be close because I made a payment on the rig and paid up a quarter’s insurance befo
