Redneck Press with Fried Chicken and Coffee

Some nights, run­ning his rig down High­way 25 through Hot Springs, Errid would go past the brown brick build­ing. He'd glance to see if any lights glowed in the three trail­ers out back, like maybe she still worked there. Maybe she worked there right now, her black nylon slip stick­ing to her belly and her […] ↓ Read the rest of this entry…