The highway lay ahead like a stream of tar spit from the devil’s chaw. It was black, black, black and lonely. We had no business being there, not at that hour. Not on that day. Not us.
We rounded yet another bend; above, the kudzu draped over us like crepe on a coffin. The only sound was the swish of our tires and the hiss of rain, the shush of wipers. No one spoke.
Suddenly the car began to slow. As if on its own, the engine wound down, filling the air with silence. We leaned forward.
At last! Walmart!
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Comments: 8
Somepin' don't add up here missy.