Running the back of one hand across my brow to mop free the beads of sweat that were daring to descend down into my eyes and across my face, I thumbed the radio to the AM emergency station with my other.

As I twisted the dial on my 1989 T-bird’s analog radio, I squinted my eyes against the late summer sun bearing down on me through my car’s open roof, as if piercing my vision would in some way help me hear through the static of the distant airwaves. Eventually the transmission caught the station and creaked through my failing speakers clearly enough to be discerned.

Evidently, a dump truck had overturned a few exits up ahead, blocking three of the four westbound lanes. “Great”, I mumbled to myself while turning the radio back to the greatest hits of the 70s station I’d been listening to since I crossed the state line.

I was on my way to Memphis to ‘visit’ my old college roommate. By ‘visit’, of course, I meant to take up residence on his couch until I figured out what the hell to do with this next stage of my life. I’d been fired from the restaurant I’d been washing dishes for in Lexington because the owner caught me getting blown by the fry-cook back in dry storage at the end of my shift. He freaked out and said he didn’t want any sodomites around the food he served his customers. Fuckin’ Bible belt. Everyone around here is so goddamned uptight.

Around me, the fumes of diesel burning away the ozone permeated the air while little mirages of gasoline vapor bounced about between the roar of 18-wheelers’ engines grumbling atop the searing pavement. When Dante was describing his descending levels, I can’t imagine how he overlooked Tennessee interstates in August.

Given the news on the radio, I pretty much figured I was going to be here for a while. I looked around for something to occupy my mind, but apart from the cardboard boxes and bags of clothes heaped up in my backseat, I had nothing of any interest in the car with me. I popped open the glove box to see if maybe there was a stray road map or something of some use to help me navigate my way around this bottle neck. But all I found was a flashlight, a roll of electrician’s tape, and a few Lifestyles condoms that expired about six years ago.

Slamming shut the glove compartment; I cast my eyes to the passenger seat floorboard. There were some greasy fast-food bags and a couple of empty cans and bottles. Just trash. In giving up my search for entertainment, I decided to relent to the moment and just ease my seat my back, close my eyes, and wait it out.

Just as I was easing into a nice state of comfort, slowly baking there under the sun like a brownie under the bulb of an easy-bake oven, I was startled upright by the deafening popping and hissing of the hydraulic brakes of a semi idling to a stop beside me. I gave the driver a quick, disapproving look and he just smiled back and waved in that ‘how ya’ doin’ partner, my name is Earl’ sort of way. I smirked and cast a sardonic little hand flip of a wave back at him, expressing my displeasure at his disturbance.

It was at this moment that I realized I was going to soon need to empty my bladder. I looked around and there was