The driver, satisfied with his vague but honest admission –and as good a warning for anybody planning on following him into the Beaver State- sinks into his seat like a man readying for bed. The hitchhiker also slumps back, but it tells of the inferior player for whom losing never becomes less frustrating.

The moon rises behind the clouds, trailing the pickup truck. A passing big rig toots its horn. There’s a certain way these mountain roads can bring a person so close to death, yet without ever having to fear that that moment is now. The warning is always of the next ridge, around that corner; but each turn is equally dangerous.

The driver and the hitchhiker have come perilously close to stumbling upon a common and fatal detail. They carry a third passenger who cannot be seen but whose weight on both of their minds has continuously made itself felt. As they relax in their seats and lose themselves in the pickup’s steady slogging through the rock-face, little can they know that not only are they heading to the same place, but they’re going to have to run the same risks to get there.