Is this the place they call carhenge he said, falling out of the cab, whiskey on his breath, eyes closed tight against the sunshine. It was 10am. We needed to get on the road.
No I said, that’s in Nebraska.
We ain’t in Nebraska?
We’re in Texas.
Damn, where’s my cigarettes?
You gave the last one to that girl outside the Big Texan Gift Shop on 40, trying to sleep in the doorway.
This is some place ain’t it he said, opening his eyes. Looky at the sky!
Anything at all else to do around here?
We gotta go.
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.