when he stopped to pick me up. Thought I’d never get the infernal racket of the wind blowing through the god-damned wheat fields. Fucking husks. The air’s so dry the inside of my nose is bleeding from chafe up there. My eyes are beyond dry.
“You need a drink?” he motions toward the cooler on the middle back seat. I do, I do need a drink. Badly. Bad enough to lean over the middle of the bench seat. I can feel my shorts tight across my ass, the sweat between my thighs, the slime of sunscreen.