Rose dropped Frank off at the gas station. "Dropped off" being the
polite term. She eighty-sixed his ass. Once they crossed the state line,
it became abundantly apparent that not only was he lousy company, he
also had a worse sense of direction than her ex husband. She figured
that meant he'd be useless on the playa too. A man who couldn't
conversate and couldn't find his way around on a flat-as-hell desert
road sure wasn't going to be able to erect a shade structure or lug
water.
She didn't spend all the last three months of her quickly shortening
life to end up taking care of an old man who couldn't fend for himself.
"Damn, where's that Grizzly Adams when you need him?" she
muttered to herself as she exited the last civilization she expected to
see for quite some time, shifted into high gear and opened her up.
Two hours later she found herself tired. Not wanting to get
hypnotized by the road, she pulled over, turned on the CB to listen the
truckers and reached up to the sun vizor grab a joint. She needed to
relax before the excitement of getting where she was going, where she
had been going, she figured, almost all her adult life without realizing
it.
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