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           Thebigcarcruisingalongatsixty.

           Iwantacolddrink.

           Well,there’ssomethingupahead.Wanttostop?

           Doyouthinkitwouldbeclean?

           Cleanasyou’regoingtofindinthisGod-forsakencountry.

           Well,maybethebottledsodawillbeallright.

           Thegreatcarsquealsandpullstoastop.Thefatworriedmanhelpshiswifeout.

           Maelooksatandpastthemastheyenter.Allooksupfromhisgriddle,anddownagain.Maeknows.They’lldrinkafive-centsodaandcrabthatitain’tcoldenough.Thewomanwillusesixpapernapkinsanddropthemonthefloor.ThemanwillchokeandtrytoputtheblameonMae.ThewomanwillsniffasthoughshesmelledrottingmeatandtheywillgooutagainandtellforeverafterwardthatthepeopleintheWestaresullen.AndMae,whensheisalonewithAl,hasanameforthem.Shecallsthemshitheels.

           Truckdrivers.That’sthestuff.

           Here’sabigtransportcomin’.Hopetheystop;takeawaythetasteofthemshitheels.WhenIworkedinthathotelinAlbuquerque,Al,thewaytheysteal—ever’darnthing.An’thebiggerthecartheygot,themoretheysteal—towels,silver,soapdishes.Ican’tfiggerit.

           AndAl,morosely,Whereyathinktheygetthembigcarsandstuff?Bornwith’em?Youwon’tneverhavenothin’.

           Thetransporttruck,adriverandrelief.How’boutstoppin’foracupaJava?Iknowthisdump.

           How’stheschedule?

           Oh,we’reahead.

           Pullup,then.They’saol’warhorseinherethat’sakick.Good

           Java,too.

           Thetruckpullsup.