louisiana 2:2
In the dust of the lot, I relaxed an almost imperceptible hitch, and the car stalled where it sat, seemed to sink a few inches into company it could relate to and died happy. A pack of fleabags barked around us, followed by a skinny black guy looking well-rested. Mick ain't here, he said. What you need? A car, I said, and he said, you got a car, aintcha. This one don't run, I said, slipping into his way of talking. The dogs scratched vigorously in a ring around us, and the man scratched at what were probably flea bites of his own. Shit, he said, I'll sell you a car that runs, sure. Them your kids? No, I said, I'm delivering them to their kin's why I need a running car. Can I get some trade on this one? Hell, Mick ain't here like I said, so's you could deal with him, but most these cars don't run neither, and he won't notice none, so I'll set you up with one that do. He did. He took enough money to get him through the day, he said, and swapped us a fresh junker for our tired one. Smokes plenty, he said, but that don't mean nothing. Where you going? Home, I said for lack of anything else to say. This car'll get you there, he said. Sure, now.
move on... 
other roads...
Back Up...
other roads:
