I thought it was a small man when I pulled over. When the dirty hitchhiker climbed in beside me I realized it was a teenaged girl. Hair shaved short, tough expression on her face, ready to fight if needed. She was headed for Chicago, knew someone there who would let her crash. She didn’t talk about what she was heading away from. It was written all over her. I let her out in eastern Iowa and wished her luck. I hope her great escape is successful.
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