Then, too, one day I was hitchhiking through Tennessee, my thumb out in the hitcher’s customary gesture with my feet planted firmly on the ground, when with a great scattering of gravel in the air a car skidded over to the side of the road and blinked its lights in such a fashion as to signify that the driver was offering me a ride. I walked over with gratitude and no little hesitation given the driver’s manner of arrival at my side.
When I eased into the seat, I beheld a man with strange, unkempt hair that stuck out in all directions and eyes that gleamed in some wild fashion that made me nervous somehow, I knew not why.
No sooner had I gained my seat and closed the door than he reached down into the pocket between his seat and his own door and pulled out a long, shiny knife, of which the blade alone was approximately 18 inches in length. The handle added yet another 3 inches to what could only be described as a lethal weapon.
“Does this scare you?” the man asked me.
“No,” I replied automatically, not knowing what else to say.
“Get out then,” he said, reaching past me to open my door.
I got out and watched the car skid back out into the world from which it had come. Then I sighed and walked on. It was just another day on the road.
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