The truck made its way across the asphalt with post haste. Hale drove.
The engine rolled steady under us, tired but still holding. The road ahead stretched out in cracked, faded lines that disappeared into heat haze and distance, like the world itself was trying to erase where anything had ever mattered.
Every bump in the asphalt sent a dull vibration through the frame, metal rattling softly in places that probably shouldn't have rattled at all.
With a cigarette in his mouth, he drew a plume of smoke outside the half open window on his side.
The smoke curled outward, caught in the wind, then ripped apart almost instantly as if even the air didn't want to hold onto it.
It left that burnt, bitter smell hanging for a moment before it thinned out and was gone.
None of us didn't really know anything about cars. We made it work, though.
