Hirc shrugged and absently tapped the harmonica against one of his horns. He couldn’t help but glance at his friend’s massive ones, curved and majestic. Everything about the minotaur was massive, larger than life, from his hulking head to his outlook.

Hirc felt very small.

Eyes going bleary he stared down the road and undid his seatbelt. One tremulous hand on the windshield the other on the door, Hirc stood in the seat, careful not to scuff the leather with his cloven hooves. Face in the wind, he hurled a rebel yell against the torrent of life, a mighty cathartic scream.

Spent, he slid back to his seat and asked without turning, “How do you do it, Bo?”

Bo snorted and mused, “Keep it simple, my friend. Try not to take what you don’t need.”

Hirc twisted in his seat, retrieved the small dufflebag, and tossed it over the door.

“Not exactly what I meant, buddy,” Bo chuckled, “Now just think about freedom. Dream a little each day. You’ll get there.”

Hirc nodded and smiled on down the highway.