Time measured in dotted and solid yellow lines as we cross the Lone Star State.

Debris blows all around the highway tonight as assorted beer cans from assorted truck stops clank and roll under the seats of the 1970 Ford Sport Custom, 3 on the tree. We cruise through west Texas at the speed of sound, it seems, as the AM radio just loses the last remnants of a classic country station. Willie sings “grew up dreaming…” and then the fade to white noise.
White heat rises from a desert and we have an extra 5 gallon bucket full of gas which once held yard herbicide in the tail, and a large funnel, for we have heard that these trips can require such desparate measures. Beer gotten at various truck stops along the way leads me to doubt the commitment to the given clientele, or doubt the 18 wheelers, lorries, that move along the road beside us heading to points further in the southwest. Some even as far as the coast, packed with Texas crude oil and petroleum of varying grades.
Tonight we are running. Running from something ‘larger than us’, otherwise we should stay and fight, but we realize the feds or locals are gonna catch up with us quickly unless we get the jump on them, and that meant a departure from Georgia in the middle of the night.

I packed a guitar, three packs of beef jerky, and the tiny keychain license plate she gave me before she moved up north. You packed the leather jacket that you just got back out of hock, the picture of your college girlfriend that you have since lost contact with, and a Polaroid camera in case we were to forget.
The ham sandwiches from 180 miles back need to get us through Monday, at least according to my calculations and budget.
I think, and talk of, Jennifer Connely in Waking the Dead and you pass me another beer. We listen to your song Hwy. 29 (requires Quicktime) on the cassette player after the good country AM radio runs out. It was about Phoenix before we decided to stop and rest. A friend of mine had called on the cell phone to tell me she was there and we made dinner plans for a diner I had to look up the location of on a map that was 10 years too old. The desk clerk at the front desk told us where to go for “a good time” and that is where I dropped you with plans to return 3 hours later for retrieval.
The sky was dark and the stars shone for awhile unlike anything I had seen in the east. Especially at sundown when the stars were out and a brilliant blue approached from the same direction that we had come.
I never returned to the brothel as you probably know by now. Last I heard you had made it back to Georgia by way of bus and train. I’m sorry I took all the money, but we were bound northward by the end of the night. Through Portland where I knew I had friends who would put me up for a couple of nights. And then even further, sleeping in the car along the way, to Anchorage where they were about ready to have full days of sunlight which I had always heard of and wanted to see. Carl said we could stay with him as long as we needed to get on our feet, when I called him from Portland. I told him all about Emma and the man she was trying to get away from, and he said this was not the first social service work he had done.
I heard from Algin that you had come back and answered to the police and the DA. That you had plea bargained, but had taken responsibility for the whole thing. I appreciate that. You know I have been needing to get away for a long time now. I thought it would be to California, SF, and Kurt, but that just wasn’t in the cards.
When things settle down a bit, and the path seems safe, and your probation is over, I will try to send some money from the fishing gig to you so you can come up and we can drink like fish and howl at the moon again. Although there are not many women up here, the ones that are get prettier the longer I stay here. Emma left recently to go see her parents and niece back in NC. I don’t expect her to return, as I have made things unbearable here for her lately.
I can’t figure out if this is a story or letter as I started writing it 4 months ago when we were on the road, so I won’t sign it, because you could have just as easily written most of it.