Some of us would hustle the married women we were seeing out here. It was 30 miles away. Besides the privacy, we all figured that it would take at least another day for the rumors to get back to town.
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Drifting and dreaming
I had a feeling that someone was watching from the leftmost second-floor room, so I departed.
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“Palm trees don’t whisper. They rustle,” she replied.
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I asked the attendant (yes, they had gas jockeys back then) for a quick place to eat. He told me about this truck stop down the road on the 65, just off of U.S. 10, called Naked City.
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