Who doesn’t like a story well-told? No one? Good.
Late Afternoon, I. The Sun. It baked him alive as he tried to open his eyes. Not that it made much difference, but his misplaced helmet that made it halfway into his face provided shade for him to be able to see the sky. He was laying on the sand and was beginning to feel…
”…and as always don’t drift from the right way.” The radio host’s last words bring me back down to earth and I regain full control of my 18-wheeler. The highway hypnosis is piling up these days as my sanity slips away, and I still can not find the reason. It can not be the constant…