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Yaphet

“You are hereby sentenced,” says the tired judge, “to thirty counts of Bangor to San Mateo.”

Yaphet gets an ’03 Kia Rio with a wobbly alignment and crud in the cup holders. The previous occupant bent the antenna and it only gets Christian rock stations. At least the AC works.

Driving after dark is dangerous; he tries to remember to pace himself. Wendy’s Value Meals and long stretches of Nebraska and Wyoming. What’s another day?

Every night he calls his parole officer from a Days or a Comfort Inn. Alone, as the TV flickers over starchy sheets, Yaphet dreams of escape.

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