i watch in horror as Jack slams on the breaks, spinning the giant machine 180 degrees so that he is now racing against traffic...  the aforementioned Big Rigs and RV’s....  stopping suddenly, he positions his truck so that its ass-end is next to my gas intake.  tires half in the rightmost lane, headlights shining directly at oncoming traffic.  he steps down as Brenda bounces from around the front of the vehicle.  “I gotta pee...  don't watch...”  i do watch, amazed, as Brenda peels down her ass-huggers and squats, pantyless, in front of the driver door to relieve herself.  i imagine the squawk on the CB radio as truckers are treated to this vision upon cresting the ridge in the road, headlights illuminating Brenda's rose tattooed groin....

Jack hops up on the back of the rig and, rubbing his grimy hands on his chin, asks how much money i have.  “i got nothing...  was planning on filling up in the next town on credit...”  “Wendover!” Brenda yells “Sucks!” peeling her Wranglers back up.  “Well, you can fill me up then with Diesel...” Jack snorts...  “you gotta knife?”  “I think so...” knowing full well i don't, “let me check...”  i move to the front of my car and rummage around a bit, “Shit!  Can't find it” i call out.  Jack tells Brenda to get him the razor blade from the front.  she quickly returns, producing a rusty blade and hands it up to Jack.  He cuts a piece of hose and stretches it from the unknown tangle of equipment on the back of his truck to my tank.  “How many gallons you hold?” he asks.  “20”.  “Well, this tank on back hold 20 but we used a little bit up...  we'll see how much is innit...”
 
i watch as liquid slowly drips from the outstretched hose, into the barren recesses of my engine... hoping for the best but expecting the worst...