Brenda looked at the diner’s front door, then down at her lukewarm coffee.

“Take the paper.

Don’t leave it in your truck.”

I folded the page once across the middle and tucked it into my coat pocket.

By noon I was sitting up in the cab of my work truck behind the main maintenance shed, watching rain run down the glass in long, crooked streaks.

Dale opened the passenger door and climbed in, smelling of grease and wet canvas.

He dragged a red rag across his knuckles and looked out at the row of parked trailers.