Crime novels have hero sitting with cup of coffee in stylish muscle car, outside of residence. Hero waits for signal. Hero waits for suspect. Hero jumps valiantly from car and finishes climactic battle with scum. Saves day. Took five pages. Read it in two minutes, tops. Life not like that. Job involves more hours staring at nothing than witnessing something. More hours shivering, more hours aching from position, more hours hungry. Maddening. Growing impatient. Getting angry. Start imaging this is waste of time, imagining lies… figure cocaine-addict could have lied. Spend next thirty minutes planning careful revenge on cocaine-addict. Check notebook for last known address, family, kids, friends, employment, etc. Just finish mapping out encounter involving pulling whore-wife’s face off in front of him, makes me feel better–can’t wait to do it. Suddenly, tap on the glass of the taxi. Frosted, foggy windows make it hard to tell who is on other side of door. Panic. Freeze. Hesitate for a. I'd been on the road for 2 weeks, hauling loads from New York to Los Angeles, and a dozen stops in between. It can get pretty lonely with no one to talk to but the other truckers on the CB. Usually I enjoy the time alone, but ever since my wife left me 3 months ago, and took my kid with her, the long road has been tough to take. So when I saw the hitchhiker on the side of the highway, I figured I might as well pull over and get a little company.She climbed into the truck, and swung her backpack into the back of the cab. I pulled back onto the road."Thanks for stopping, mister." No problem. My name's Ben. What's yours?" Lisa." Where you headed?" Don't matter much. Just so long as I get there fast."I looked her over. She was what you might describe as a skater chick. Looked to be about 18 or so. Baggy pants, black t-shirt. Short jet black hair pulled into 2 small pigtails. She was skinny- she almost had a boyish body with a flat chest and small ass. She had a pierced eyebrow, pierced.
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