November, he wants to say, argue again that it'll all be okay if they can't just hold out until November, but he doesn't, he just grunts a yeah and nods his head, lowered, and walks to his own truck.

Seats are hard and cracked and he catches his pants on the door as he gets in, whispering a curse or maybe just thinking it as the engine growls to life on the first, second, third turn. Soon 'nuff, ain't nothing but the road ahead, the road and the trees and forever and Jack Twist in his goddamned rearview mirror that he can't help but look up at.