“Wha…whata you…”

“Oh ho, man. You missed a great time in there!” The hitchhiker springs up in his seat and stretches one arm out towards the dash and the other to the seat back as he turns to the driver. One hand is clutching a beer bottle while the other contains a bag of peanuts.

“You’d be amazed at what a few bucks in there can get ya.”

“Oh yeah?” The driver releases the words very cautiously, so they do not come out saying, “tell me more.” To cut the hitchhiker off before he can open his mouth: “You mean more than a bottle a beer an a pack a peanuts?”

The hitchhiker catches a hint of the sarcasm, though he is not usually good at picking up on such things.

“Oh yeah, a lot more.” He answers earnestly, despite the driver’s mocking tone. “You want one?” He pushes the bag of peanuts at the driver.

“I wanna get outta here.”

“Arright. Let’s hit that road.”

As they pull out of the pines and back onto the highway, the driver is amazed that they are finally leaving a place without an angry mob licking at their heels. He savors the slow turn of the pickup, as it cuts across two lanes to the eastbound side of the highway. In the process, the driver catches a sidelong glance at the hitchhiker. From a profile view –and this is the first time the driver notices it- his face takes on the inexplicable quality of at once smiling and seeming deathly intent on…something. The way his mouth turns up at the corners sets it in a jovial and constant smirk; while the creases running down from his eyes lend them the gravity of a man who has witnessed…a lot. The driver wonders, not so idly, if this is the frozen expression of someone who laughs while he murders. The driver is no longer relieved by the calm that sees them out of this pine-hidden whorehouse.