Because the road had me again.
A knock on the window made me jump.
An older man stood there in a worn coat and split boots, gray beard moving in the wind. He looked like somebody the road had kept.
I cracked the window.
He changed the tire without another question.
“You all right?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
He looked at the back of my car. “You got a spare?”
“Yes.”
“Pop the trunk.”
He changed the tire without another question. Fast. Steady. Like he had done it a
