“We pursued our destination one night with our thumbs jabbing at the headlights of a ’62 Chevy.
The driver slowed down and told us to get in. I started to hop in the front seat. Horace opened the back door for me.
“I’ll sit in front,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” the driver grinned, looking at me in his rear view mirror. “Where ya headed?” He released his foot from the brake and carefully moved it over to the accelerator pedal.
“We’re on our way to Arcata,” I said from the back. “Ever hear of it?”
The driver offered me a cigarette and I took one. Horace said he didn’t smoke. The car moved along the dark highway for a minute before the driver spoke again.