THE SMALL humming of his beaten car, once tolerable, was now a drill in Walters ear, overbearingly constant, uninterrupted as Walters leg bounced up and down sporadically, following the two different beats of his split heart. His fingers strangled the steering wheel, nails almost tearing into the leather alone, almost as clamped as the lip between his teeth.
Where was she?
He had been driving for longer than his eyes could cope, and the heavy weight of his lids were almost about to close on him, when he saw her, standing by the side of the road with her thumb raised and arm extended.
Jerking back to attention, he slowed the car down slightly and pulled up.
"Need a lift?"
YOU ARE READING
Hitchhikers And Highways|✔️
General FictionHe has places to run from. She has places to be.
