The sun was low and the soft white clouds stretched across a dusky blue sky. The wind had died down significantly from the gusts of the afternoon to a gentle cool caress. So many times out on the road we are confined to the cab of the truck. Miles and miles to run as the clock counts down. "Hurry up, go." it says, "hurry up and get there." But last night it was quiet. Last night there was no rush. We were out on the road, somewhere in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania without a care in the world. No load to rush to. No clock taunting us. No highway teasing us. Just he and I and a peaceful evening breeze blowing through the open windows of the truck.
"Let's turn the truck off and go sit outside," he says. "Do you want to?" It should have been a rhetorical question.
