Bokelskere.no

Grover and Dan rode in the front seat in silence. It had been years since I had ridden in a silent car. I generally tried to fill the space with music or talk from the radio or a tape. I counted it a defiency when I was forced to ride in quiet.
Now, in the enveloping dark of Grover’s old Buick, the pleasure of silent travel came back to me from my childhood. I slid down in the back seat and listened to the whining of the tires and the steady, purring throb of the ancient V-8 under the hood. Fatback crawled over and put her head on my lap. The sky outside had changed from golden to orange to a blazing red, and was beginning to deepen to a velvet purple. My truck, my indecision, and my petty grivances and angers seemed light years away. I was in Indian country, and I was traveling on Indian time.