They drove two hours before the third stop. Ronny had warned her about this, but Ronny talked a lot of shit. They’d paused an hour earlier, just outside Beltway 8, and then again in Katy—but now, ninety minutes from San Antonio, his foot-tapping turned to pressing, then a solid series of stomps while he grasped at his seat belt.

Nigga , Cali said.

Told you, Ronny said. Tiny bladder.

You’re a grown man.

And A.D.H.D.? Girl.

Let’s at least make it past the city, Cali said.

I’m not stopping in Kerrville, Ronny said. No, ma’am.

Still time to catch a flight instead, Cali said.

Five minutes, Ronny said. Whataburger’s right there! Attached to the gas station! Don’t even have to stop the engine.

Read an interview with the author for the story behind the story.

From Houston to Los Angel

See Full Page