Monica stood on the highway. Her sandals would be no match for a two mile hike back to the Petrol Pantry. Not only did they stand out in stark contrast to the black oil-stained road, but their comfort level was minus 3 on a scale of 1-to-10. She would remember this lesson for a long time to come: Never borrow your boyfriend’s crappy car at the last minute but, if you did, gas up. Or throw a pair of sneakers into the trunk.

The sun was slipping below the horizon. Although it was dusk, it would soon be dark. The highway did not appear to have streetlights or call boxes, just trash and trees as far as the eye could see, which would not be far in about twenty minutes. There wasn’t even a chance to hitch hike.

Or was there?

Just rising over the horizon was a pair of headlights. Two, luminous orbs moving slowly in her direction.

Hesitantly she stuck out her thumb. “Okay,” she murmured, “here goes nothing.”

Her little voice was yelling again. Something about “hitch hiking” and “stupid”.