The Hitchhiker

About ten thirty a few nights ago, I found myself driving down our curvy country road. I’ve made the same drive, at the same time, for the same thing dozens of times. We just wanted a few scoops of ice cream. It was foggy. There’s a small valley with a bridge at the bottom. I came down onto the bridge into a thick fog bank. My headlights hit a girl on the other side.
She stared straight at me. Brown eyes, fair skinned, and a red flannel shirt. I wasn’t in any danger of hitting her, she was on the other side of the road, but it was still surprising. I vaguely worried that the car coming up behind her was not going to have my luck. She stayed in my mind while ordering ice cream.

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