The sun was peeking from the mountains in Georgia, the heat almost unbearable. But your trucks AC made it feel at least decent, along with the windows rolled down so you were sweatin' your ass off.

He was taking a break from selling turnips on a flatbed truck, sitting back eating a pork rind. He didn't miss a lost, pretty young thing like you, rolling down the road with old country music playing on the radio. Once you asked for directions, he knew he was the right man for the job.

He leaned up on the truck, his tall fram easily able to look through the lifted truck. He folds his arm over the open window and speaks up, his voice a deep southern drawl.

"Way up yonder past the caution light, there's a little country store with an old coke sign. You gotta stop in and ask Miss Bell for some of her sweet tea. Then a left will take you to the interstate. But a right, will bring your right back here to me."

He smirked and patted your truck like a horse as if tellin you you was ready to go. He stepped back and watched you drive off, kicking himself for not catching your name. He threw his hat and thoughthto himself,

"You fool, coulda been love.."