He spotted my station wagon coming up the gravel, stomped on the gas, and swung his wheel hard toward the highway.

Brad’s tires threw gravel as he tore out of my driveway.

Kurt already had the nozzle in his tank when I pulled in next to him.

The pump at the Cenex on Highway 12 ticked along slowly, and Kurt Ostrowski watched the numbers as if they owed him money.

“Morning, Amy.” He raised his chin.

I switched off my truck and walked over with my hands shoved in my coat pockets.

“Morning.