The old pickup rattled and squeaked like a prison sentence Frank felt down. He wanted right the woman to share his bed with? Sixty miles from Twenty Nine Palms Frank saw the engine was boiling. Frank sprung from the cab. He smelled a noxious odor clawing the desert air the thermostat was dead. He didn’t have one to fix it Sitting his knees drawn up and back against the truck he buried his head in his hands. Big rigs blasted by in swirls of dust and sand. He needed help. However, he had no one to call. It was his fault. He’d no one to call. He kept things to himself. He knew many people. But he’d shared little. Then, without warning, in the still of the night, a bolt of white, hot, luminous explosion hit the desert floor.
A young woman locked her eyes on his.Frank’s limbs shook. She reached in her dress, produced a brand new choke.
“What in the world,” he said talking to himself.
“Quiet, Frank,” she purred. Fix the truck and take me home.”