The trucker was in the middle of a long haul when the call came over the CB. It was from his good neighbour, going by the handle “Llew”.
The lard encrusting the trucker’s heart started to get dangerously overheated. Some part of the trucker, a (smaller) better part, resisted the immediate urge to say “Roger that!”.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip as he considered this news. More sweat made his ass itch uncomfortably. It was one of the curses of his job that he could no longer reach it to give it a good scratch with his left index finger. It was too far away around his bulk. Sometimes the rougher roads gave him relief, but this was not one of those.
NYCGirl was her handle. She ran the truckstop where occasionally, Llew and the trucker would stop for a burger or two. She had dreams, big dreams, of going to Dirty Town and finding her fortune. He couldn’t quite join the dots between NYCGirl showing skin and finding fame and fortune, but hell, he didn’t feel like complaining.
But… he would have to be careful. She spoke often of her perfect boyfriend. The trucker was worried that he might be the kind of man that kept a Louisville slugger in the back of his pickem up truck. The trucker was no longer as quick on his feet as he used to be. The forklift drivers were getting really pissed at having to help him in and out of his double cab.
And anyway, the warden would kill him when he got back to base. Even looking but not touching was no excuse in her book.
All this thinking made his head hurt. For a moment, his vision swam for a bit and the road faded in and out of view. Damned crystal was wearing off. There was only one thing for it.
“That’s a negatory, Llew: I’m dodgin’ alligators and headin’ out for Shaky Town. Say, good neighbour, did I ever tell you about the time I saw this naked hippie chippie…”