Seems nothing much is ever on the radio in this area but various kinds of obtuse music and the same kind of religious bilge — always a male and “I’ve seen the Lord and He’s me and you and you’ll see Him too if you listen to me and do what I say which is what He’s told me is for you and that’s to do God’s work,” and so on, and sometimes even worse. How could anyone…? — oh, he knows: people like to believe. Must be the hills—“And don’t forget to send me your moolah so I can carry on our cause”—but must be the hills around why he can’t get the good stations from his city or Wilmington or is it Newark, Delaware, pronounced “new ark,” or even way back and to the right, he thinks, Philadelphia, and shuts it off. What was that look by that guy all about? No, forget it. No, really, think, what started it, continued it, and then the end? Oh, first terrify you or use whatever punk means to try to and then when they’ve done a pretty good job of it or think they have, smile but really a big phony one and be nice and their gestures even polite and “Oh, hope we didn’t disturb your ride and your cute bitty kiddies,” for they got what they wanted and now just don’t want to get in trouble for it — you could have a car phone and call the police and give them their license plate number and so forth — something, anyway, for them to change their tactics like that, but exactly what he doesn’t know. But dopes, that’s all, pure dopes. As for their dangerous driving, face it: you’ve done as bad if not worse. Made mistakes like they did, drove too close behind a car where when it suddenly slowed you almost plowed into it, pulled away from the curb without looking into the street to see what was coming and almost got into you don’t know how many collisions, drove dreamily alongside some parked cars and nearly hit a woman holding a kid getting out of the passenger’s door, didn’t let the truck pass first when you were entering a highway and it nearly went over you and the kids. You even did something like those just before when you started moving into the right lane without looking and that van was coming. But when you have done things like that you usually if you could apologized right off to the driver you did it to, as you did with the van. But you never that you can remember gave the driver of the car you just scared half to death or nearly killed with your lousy driving any kind of terrifying or cynical or “You’re to blame, dumbo, you, so just go screw yourself” look. You have, first chance — oh, a few times when you were in a miserable mood or something, you didn’t, and you blamed the other driver and a couple of times raised your hand or even once your fist in a threatening gesture and called him an asshole or jerk — but thrown up your shoulders and hand as the passenger only did later, but surely no sinister…anyway, usually totally apologetic or close, at times mouthing “I’m sorry,” or if your window was open and theirs too, or even if theirs wasn’t, saying or shouting it: “Excuse me, my blunder, stupid of me, I’m sorry.” Smart, though, not to have messed with those men. They didn’t look like nice guys despite the last nice-guy gestures and look of the passenger and you wouldn’t have been surprised, if you had looked toughly or cynically back at them or given them any kind of rebuke with your look, if they wouldn’t have — passenger, at least, driver as much as he could from his seat — raised a middle finger at you or even shook a fist or done something like point a hand at you in the shape of a pistol and with the index finger made believe they were pulling the trigger a few times. Enough, they’re gone, incident’s done, think of other things or just don’t think. You just hope you don’t run into them on the road again or in a rest stop along the way if you have to stop. You’ll have to, you always do, if just for a quick take-out coffee to keep you awake for the rest of the trip and for the kids a large box of popcorn to keep them fed and occupied, and if you get that coffee you’ll also need to piss, since your bladder always fills up with a couple of cups. But even if you do see them, and odds are slight, by that time you’re sure they won’t recognize you but you think you’ll recognize them. What happened meant more to you than them, that’s probably why, and because of the kind of guy you are compared to them: things sink in, you usually try to understand why they happened, and when you do something wrong intentionally or by mistake it hits you harder than what they do hits them. You see them forgetting it, after a quick joking exchange not talking about it, maybe scaring the shit out of someone else if the feeling nudges them and another car like yours with kids or just to them some dumb-looking schmuck at the wheel happens to be driving alongside theirs. Anyway, that’s how it is on the big road: so anonymous though tough and scary every so often and sometimes heated and dangerous for a few seconds before the cars go their own way or one or the other disappears.