“Rides with Strangers.” Hotel Amerika 15. Winter 2017, pp. 117-22
"It is around this time I begin picking up hitchhikers. First people caught in the rain — an impulsive Samaritan thing to do. Then random thumbers. I am driving a lot these days, back living on the outside of Lubbock and on weekends jaunting to the isolated cotton towns slurping the Ogallala aquifer. The expanse of space allows my head to breathe. I can let the cold numbness drift across the Great Plains. The joke is, if your dog runs away in West Texas, stand on your roof and you can watch him for two days. You can see the earth slip away into the blue haze of nothingness from an overpass."