Dust To Dust
Bob held the rental Malibu steady at eighty down the desert road as Judy rummaged through the suitcase.
Ignoring him, Judy tossed crumpled pieces of paper out the window.
“What was that last one?”
“Old dry cleaning bill. You have so much crap in here, I can’t…”
Bob slammed on the brakes, “The directions are on the back!”
They jumped out, giving chase for about fifty yards until a dust devil suddenly whisked it away. As they watched the paper disappear into the tangled dust a pickup truck passed them by, its smiling driver waving (Bob waving back). When it reached the rental, it screeched to a stop, a passenger jumped out of the truck, into the Malibu and sped off.
Judy watched the car until it passed over the horizon and, fighting back tears, hung her head, whispering, “Damn you!”
“Me?” Bob surveyed their surroundings, then, smiling, he gently lifted Judy’s chin with his hand and pointed to a pump car on the nearby train tracks.
Judy seethed, “What are we, Laurel and Hardy?”