Jones nodded towards where his truck was parked. "Same as you, Son," he said, "Stocking up on the stuff we might need and some stuff we probably don't... but you can never be sure out here. How's your Momma and Joe doing?" Doing alright," I nodded, "Always got that big pot of stew on the go."He laughed. "Yep, that sounds like your mother alright. Tell her I'm asking after her and that Agnes will be over once the thaw sets in. God only knows when that will be."The talk turned small as we stood. Une loge... en fait, plutôt un placard un balai. La petite pièce était à peine assez grande pour lui permettre de faire les cents pas. Trois pas dans une direction, et il se cognait contre un mur jauni par le temps. Il se retournait, faisait trois autres pas, et s'arrêtait contre une petite tablette vissée au mur, tablette au-dessus de laquelle on avait accroché un miroir terne et légèrement craquelé. Un tabouret bancal complétait le pathétique ameublement. S'il n'y avait pas eu le nom. “I just gotta see this!” he said, bending over and reaching for the power switches on the TV and VCR. He turned both of them on, then slipped the tape out of the sleeve and shoved it into the slot on the VCR. The picture flickered as the “autoplay” function engaged, and he stepped back to sit on the couch as the movie began to play. He grabbed the remote and fast-forwarded through all of the conversation and plot bullshit that he didn’t have the least interest in seeing, slowing the movie down. Pride had stopped her. Her sister and two brothers all had postcard marriages. She refused to be the only one with problems. Besides, there was very little traffic, and they only had a few miles to go to get home. Maybe he was right. Maybe she worried too much. Steve took another turn too fast and the back end of the sedan fishtailed. He recovered quickly enough, but she didn’t know why he took that turn anyway. Home was the other way. ‘Highway,’ he said as if reading her mind. ‘S’faster.’.