I MUST HAVE WAITED there on the shoulder of the road for an hour, at least, during which time I fetched a road flare from the trunk—the closest thing I had to a weapon, sadly—as well as the 5-gallon plastic gas can (which was full, like the Camry’s tank, because the car’s fuel gauge didn’t work), although as to why I grabbed it I can’t really say. Maybe I just wanted it close so I could refuel quickly if it became necessary. Maybe I already had some divination of an outcome—whether I was consciously aware of it or not.
What I was certain of is that no cops had shown up, nor whirred past through the fog with their lights flashing chaotically, in the entire time I’d been waiting. Likewise, my phone had remained silent—as if my call for help had simply fallen through the cracks, or never hap
