Clayton usually barely even stopped, just stick his burly, tattooed arm out the window, grabbed the sack and blew smoke and exhaust at me when he peeled away down the highway back to my dad’s office in town.
I wanted Clayton to stop and chat today for the first time ever.
“Hey,” I called out into his open driver’s side window when he stuck his barb wire-tattooed arm out the window.
“What the hell you want?” He hollered back.
Looking up at Clayton’s bearded face was even more intimidating from my lower vantage point on the edge of the road.
“Oh, uh. I was wondering if you wanted to be security at my party tonight? I can kick you some extra money and booze.”
Clayton spit tobacco over my shoulder.
“Are there going to be ladies there?”
“Ladies? Yeah. For sure.”
“Then shit yeah. I’ll do it.”
“Can you sleep in your truck in the driveway man?” My face blushed when I asked.
“What the fuck?”
“I’ll get you some extra money and weed.”
“Okay, I guess.”
Clayton reached down and grabbed the day’s sack out of my hand. Spit a thick glob of tobacco just over my shoulder again, and drove away.
