Less than a minute later, Dalton and Everett are standing on the side of the road with their luggage, and I can’t believe I just left two guys whose trust funds could buy a small European principality on Highway 50. While I watch them grow smaller in the rearview mirror, two thoughts cross my mind: Number one: Dalton and Everett are, far and away, the best friends a guy could ask for. Number two: I really should have at least left them in a Cracker Barrel parking lot or something.
