While he sauntered to his cruiser sweat beads made slow racing tracks down my forehead. Reality, half-memory, fantasy, and the Dylan song on the radio blended together in a big anxious soup. Kate just picked at her cuticles and hummed along until the chorus came around again. I still felt way too drunk for how far away the last night felt.
Two cruisers, lights flashing, whipped by in the other direction.
Nearly causing me to piss myself, the trooper sidled up to my window, “Everything looks in order.” He handed everything back and took a long stare down the highway, adjusting his belt in a manly fashion.
“Um, thank you, officer,” I offered meekly, still praying Kate didn’t suddenly kill him.
“Yup,” he drawled, “Keep it under 80 ‘til ya see another black and white go by. That’ll be Kenny, last to the scene as always. After that yer clear for 200 plus miles, so jes floor it. Y’all got work to do.”
He tipped his hand and strolled away. Kate shot me a wicked grin, heavy on the wicked, and we were off.