Dear Wigleaf,

I saw it coming a mile away.

I'm at the Post Oak rest area, mile marker 114 on Interstate 57, which is teeming with marching band kids on their way to a Saturday afternoon show. The canary yellow school buses will presently, somehow, manage to contain their clamor, restlessness, and drama.

He's loitering, feigning casual ease, between me and my car. "Hey, say," he drawls, "I was wondering... didja see... what I was doing in my cab, when you passed me?"

I sigh internally and roll my eyes, politely smiling all the while. I mean, tell me, how might the driver of a passenger car see into a semi-truck cab that she is passing on the left? And how might a truck that I'd allegedly passed arrive at the rest area before I do? Even the most basic laws of space and time weren't being observed. "Nope, sure didn't." I add a patronizing smile and eyebrow raise, universal signals of irritation.

"The one with the blue cab, there." He gestures, lingering three feet from my car.

"Nope, sorry." I move past him, toward the driver's side door. He's not going to barge into the passenger's seat, is he? Damn these 'smart key' and 'passive entry' systems on cars these days.

" 'cuz you see..."

I open the door.

"...I was jackin' off."




- - -

Read YT's story.

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