He was a blue collar working, beer drinking, Carhartt wearing all-American. “Hey-o,” she chanted as she came down the stairs. “Ready to head o...t?” “Let’s do it,” I said, grabbing the beer I set down and the plastic folding table and heading back to the door. “See you guys later.”We climbed into her car as I loaded the table into the back seat. “How was work?” I asked her, knowing she usually couldn’t wait for Friday to come from working agonizing ten hour days.“Ugh, it was awful; I was. The cab smelled of stale tobacco and unwashed underwear. The driver was a cookie cutter ‘truck driver’, complete with worn cover-alls and faded red cap. ‘Where you headed,’ he asked in a gruff voice, small, piggish eyes looking her over. Something about him made her want to puke. Part of her wanted to get out, but it was so cold and so late. She had been around enough gruff types to be able to take care of herself. Her right hand slid into her jacket pocket and clenched the brass knuckles she. More

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