Tonight we drove around for a bit, one last spin through town before Riley has to board the bus for boot camp in the morning. Then he mentioned the beer and we headed for the turn-off, a local hangout down by Swift Creek where kids go to drink and make out. Past the high school, the main strip peters out to a dirt road and the town gives way to waist-high grass full of chiggers and ticks and snakes. The road runs straight to the creek, but off to one side is a gravel-lined turn-around where the grass has been trampled down, and cigarette butts and wads of chewed gum litter the gravel. The turn-off. On the weekend, the place is packed until well after midnight, pickup trucks jostling for space, the air full of teenage laughter. Tonight’s Wednesday, though, and there’s a storm brewing by the
