” “Well, Amanda, I’m Mark. You like music? I could turn on the radio.” “Doesn’t matter.” She hadn’t moved a muscle. “You know, three...hundred miles is gonna to seem awfully long if you just sit there and stare out that window.” Amanda turned, and I saw tears in her eyes. “You’re crying. What’s the matter.” “I just left my husband.” “Oh. That’s OK, I understand.” “No you don’t. You don’t know what he’s like.” “Well, no, I don’t know him, but I do know how you feel. I got divorced myself, a few. ." I'm trying in vain to think of a cover story.She takes her thumb out of her mouth and turns to face me as she says "Of course you do. Your pantyhose were right at the top of your laundry. And I like them. They're just like the ones I wear." I can't tell if her tone is one of amusement, or accusation."Oh they're not yours!" So you admit to having some then?" she parries, wryly. She's enjoying my embarrassment. She wrinkles her nose at me."Shit... yes. Well, they're not mine, they're my. More

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