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Holly

The Southern New Mexico Correctional Facility is about ten minutes out from Las Cruces proper. Holly and Roger always make it a point to pick up hitchhikers directly under the big signs that demand you not do so.

“So what’d you do?” says Holly to the dusty man sitting bitch in the truck.

“Possession with intent,” he says.

“Are you going to start again when you get back to town?”

“Gonna do more than just possess this time,” he grumbles.

“Pot?”

“Chalk.”

“Too bad.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he chuckles, “I can get you pot.”

Roger drives, watching for roadrunners.

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