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“The train? You’re kidding. Why?”
“A kid crashed into me an hour ago on I-93. I still haven’t made it to Dartmouth.”
“Christ! This fucking day!” Christopher explodes. “Who did we piss off? Who put a curse on us? Do we need to get a shaman in here to sage the office?” He sighs. “Why don’t you just get a car back to the city?”
“I could, but…”
I clear my throat and have the decency to stop talking before I admit aloud that the train doesn’t come with an annoying driver.
As if on cue, my driver speaks up, “Sir, it looks like I’m getting low on gas. Do you want me to stop and fill up or…”
“Or what?” I press, because I need him to see this from my perspective. What’s the alternative? Run out of gas on the highway?
He nods. “Right, yeah. I’ll pull over and fill up.”
“Christopher, I gotta go.”…before I lose my mind.
I hang up and check my watch again.
Ten minutes until class.
Ten minutes.
Shit.
