idaho 2:2
On the plus side, if she could drive, I wouldn't have to drive all the time. I'd been driving without relief since we started out. I wasn't even sure Jack shouldn't get a turn. He could sit on this phonebook. We didn't have a phone. The cars we picked up had miscellaneous artifacts from previous owners: a box of fairly fresh sugar doughnuts, a rings of keys, a roadmap of Spain. Steer into the widest space of the curve, slow early then accelerate easy out of the turn. We grazed an outhouse. Also good was that driving would give Jill something to do and think about. She'd been sinking into a malaise from which no amount of goofiness from Jack and me could goad her. She did brighten when I offered her a spin. Maybe by letting her risk our lives, we could stave off tuberculosis or some other disease to which her weakened emotional state would make her susceptible. That left only Jack. Really he wasn't fit to drive. Maybe I'd buy him a small rifle, let him shoot at signs. Let up on the brake a little just before we come to a stop, so you don't get that jerk that spills your coffee, smooth it out like you're driving in a cloud, like stopping a feather on a pool of cream.
move on... 
other roads...
Back Up...
other roads:
