“Sure. Juss a little, though.”

“Juss a little?”

“Yeah, petty stuff. When I’s a kid. Hardly worth mench’nin.”

“Oh, aright.”

“Why? Hwa’bout you?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Ha’long?”

“Ah, a couple a years in one joint. Got transferred ta’nother. Now here I am, free as a bird.”

“Y’mean ya juss got out?’

“Oh yeah.”

“Well hwa’bout what you said before, bout workin down..”

“Death Valley? They had us on a chain gang.”

“An they juss let ya out, right there an then?”

“When yer time is up, yer time is up.”

That left the driver in silence, alternately grappling with the nuggets of personal biography served up by the hitchhiker, and the sickening knot of tiredness, suspicion, blood-lust and whatever else is digging its claws into the lining of his stomach.