“Bessie knows you’re judging her.” Good. She fucking should. This car should have been sent to car heaven years ago. It’s probably older than this chick’s mamaw who makes peach cobbler. Almost on cue, my stomach gives a roar. First stop, food. Otherwise neither of us will make it to where we’re supposed to be. Mercifully, Bessie doesn’t need any foreplay to get her going. She starts first time, and we inch our way out of the airport.
