A copy of The Concho River Review turned up in my mailbox yesterday. My short story, “Dead Ringer” appears on page 17. The idea for that piece seeded itself in my head when I was leaving Wyoming, four or five summers ago. I still remember the easy way that boy stuck his girl in the cab of my Jeep and closed the door after her. Waving us off as if he somehow expected never to see us again.
The tire got patched in Waltman. Three long-haul truckers who’d pulled off the road to stretch their legs fixed it with one of those cheap, portable kits you get in the automotive department in WalMart. I paid them with a six of Heineken I’d had on ice in the cooler. I was sad to lose the beer, but happy to get the girl (and the tire) back to her stranded boyfriend. To the best of my knowledge, they never did make it to the Hole in the Wall.