Traffic on the highway was snarled as usual, probably a damned accident up ahead. Now it has started to rain. I know I should have left earlier, but time did not mean much to me the last ten years with 23 hours a day in my cell alone. I need to get moving if I’m ever gonna hook up with the Cowboy. He emphasized DON ’T BE LATE .

What’s that up ahead? Oh great, a stupid construction zone and with a stupid flag man controlling the traffic. Damn him and the guards and the judges in their silly black robes . Always someone trying to tell me what to do.

His left hand dove into his jacket pocket searching for something … gum wrapper, NO, receipt from the convenience store-NO, ah there it was the small soft round device the Cowboy sent to him. He ran his index finger over the single button for reassurance, patted it gently and placed his hand back on the steering wheel.

Finally he cleared the construction zone but the rain now was falling more heavily. “I CAN ’T BE LATE ” his brain screamed.