This Side of the Hudson

We ran out of gas ten miles from town. “Great. This is just peachy. We’re on the run from cops, and you didn’t have enough sense to fill up the tank before we made a run for it!”
“Hey, don’t blame me, Mr Cheapskate!” JJ shot back, head on the wheel.
I sighed. “We had the chance to pull the greatest heist of the century, and we had to run out of gas. Now we’re sure to get thrown in the big house.”
JJ looked to me. “Are we just gonna wait for them to catch up with us, Joey?”
“Might as well.” I was dejected.
“You? Thee Joseph Libbin? The most can-do guy this side of the Hudson?”
“Which side of the Hudson are we on, JJ?” His eyes went as blank as a doe’s in headlights. “Exactly.”
“Joey, we can just take the loot and run.”
“On foot? Against coppers with cars? That’s stupid.”
“It’s as stupid as just sittin here.” JJ had a point for once.
“Alright. We’ll hoof it,” I said finally. We jumped out of my tired red pickup, grabbed the heavy trunk in back, and started to drag it through a nearby cornfield.

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