The Uphill Slide

There is always something.

A Hot Wind

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The steaming air was moved only by the speed of our Chrysler slicing through it. Even that movement did not dry the sweat. It was our last family vacation minus my brother who stayed home to tend to farm chores. He was a college man by then, after all, too old perhaps for this vacation. 

I was the  unskilled map reader. I missed the exit, and according to my dad, cost us 50 miles of wasted road. After that, I poured myself into reading the map, an almost archaic skill for drivers now. 

A cooling break came later at an open-air watermelon stand serving fruit straight from the field. Then a quick visit to the “whites only” bathroom.

Texas 1968.

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