“You’re not going to murder me, right?”

The middle-aged man smiled at my joke as he sat in my passenger seat.

“Not ‘til ya get me t’ the next town, darlin’,” he replied. He was unshaven, dusty, and deeply tanned by the highway. He was a little handsome.

“Oh dear. What’s a poor girl like me to do?”

I drove again as Shirley Manson sang on the radio. I’m waiting for my moment…

“It’s weird, lady,” he said, “I’m usually hitchin’ rides from truckers. Most chicks don’t give me a second look.”

“I’m not most ‘chicks.’ Besides,” I made a careful pause, “I like the company.”

He paused, then chuckled. More music came with the quiet. Be careful what you’re wishing.

“Are you thirsty? I got a water bottle behind your seat.”

“Yeah, I am, actually,” he reached blindly behind him, “Ow! The fuck? I got cut!”

“Oh, sorry; car’s a mess. Anyway, I like to help men like you. It’s a temptation I can’t resist. Do you have any of those?”

My passenger was foaming white at the mouth.

“Never mind. Go ahead and sleep.”