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“What’s wrong?”<br />
<strong>Jack</strong> <strong>kilborn</strong> <strong>SErial</strong> <strong>blakE</strong> <strong>crouch</strong><br />
“i’m going to be sick.”<br />
“oh God, don’t puke on our shit.”<br />
Matt pulled over onto the shoulder and lucy opened her<br />
door and stumbled out. as she worked her way down a gentle<br />
embankment making fake retching sounds, she heard Matt<br />
saying, “Dude? Dude? come on, dude! Wake up, dude!”<br />
She waited in the bed of the arroyo for ten minutes and<br />
then started back up the hill toward the car. Matt had<br />
slumped across the center console into kenny’s lap. The man<br />
probably weighed two hundred pounds, and it took lucy<br />
ten minutes to shove him, millimeter by millimeter, into<br />
the passenger seat on top of kenny. She climbed in behind<br />
the wheel and slid the seat all the way forward and cranked<br />
the engine.<br />
She turned off of i-70 onto 24. according to her map, this<br />
stretch of highway ran forty-four miles to a nothing town<br />
called hanksville. From her experience, it didn’t get much<br />
quieter than this barren, lifeless waste of countryside.<br />
Ten miles south, she veered onto a dirt road and follow-ed<br />
it the length of several football fields, until the highway was<br />
almost lost to sight. She killed the engine, stepped out. late<br />
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