On highway 10 - high risk - no space to fall cars come so close at high speeds, their wind moves us in the wrong direction. On interstate 10’s entrance ramp, there’s 8 inches of clearance between the wall and the road to Baton Rouge. The white Dodge Dart pulls over. An old man: ”You want a ride? get in.” He stares ahead, a stone. Dave and I sit next to him in the front bench seat the man’s hands! Each finger tattooed letters spelling Hard Luck Lost Love no questions from me “Do you drink beer?” damn tired, hungover from New Orleans, I babble “Uh, yes. Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t; it depends.” “Goddammit!” I asked, “do you drink beer?” I’m yelling, Dave’s yelling “Yes sir. Yes, sir we drink beer.” “Reach behind that cooler, get us 3. Don’t let anyone see I got to get to Seattle - I don’t have no driver’s license or registration.” I reach into the styrofoam cooler grab 3 Dixie beers. We drink. He pulls off the side of the highway. “I got to take me a piss.” Tall rushes provide cover. The old man’s got the hood of the car open, He’s pissing into the radiator. Driving west on route 10, we break. I’m eating a hot roast beef sandwich, nice - - gravy and mashed potatoes. Feels like we made a new friend, but, he matter-of-fact delivers his goodbye: “I’m done with you; you’re own your own.”
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