Nine hours in the back of a crow. The washboard road rattled his guts, the engine vibrated so much he couldn’t tell where his flesh ended and the wooden bench began. When he tried to move, to piss through the slats to the dirt road below, his muscles wouldn’t answer. His tailbone had gone from numb to fire to dumb. Dust filled the canopy, gravel shot up through the transaxles, and his life returned to enduring.
