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Casper, Wyoming, Tuesday Morning
So, hitching.
Hitching was not the least bit fun, it turned out. Truckers tended to smell, and one of them--well. At least she'd stolen his wallet before he tossed her out of the cab. She was trying to avoid, you know, crime, but she was also of the personal opinion that some people had it coming. But between that and what she'd managed to scrape together yesterday in Casper, she had enough for a box of granola bars and another bus. But it would have to be a cheap bus, because she'd also bought a freakin' sweatshirt. Wyoming was cold. She scanned the departures board and finally found a bus she could afford--and not one headed south, as she'd hoped. Resigned to her fate, she stepped up to the window. "Hi. Can I get a ticket to Missoula?"
Hitching was not the least bit fun, it turned out. Truckers tended to smell, and one of them--well. At least she'd stolen his wallet before he tossed her out of the cab. She was trying to avoid, you know, crime, but she was also of the personal opinion that some people had it coming. But between that and what she'd managed to scrape together yesterday in Casper, she had enough for a box of granola bars and another bus. But it would have to be a cheap bus, because she'd also bought a freakin' sweatshirt. Wyoming was cold. She scanned the departures board and finally found a bus she could afford--and not one headed south, as she'd hoped. Resigned to her fate, she stepped up to the window. "Hi. Can I get a ticket to Missoula?"
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