Truck

Excerpt: "The night was deepening, and the man said the truck must leave at night. The woman gave me a hug, an even warmer one than that she had given me when I'd arrived. She placed in my palm several colorful strings, which she had used to tie her long hair, and a glass jar, which had an unknown person's tooth in it. As the truck began to inch forward, I held those gifts tight in my arms. I wanted to thank the man, so I handed him the last diskette, the last sign of my secret. He looked at it as if it was something mysterious, then he tossed it onto the floor of the truck. But I felt relieved that I'd confessed my secret to someone. How far had we traveled? The man muttered something to himself. "You're the ugliest woman I've ever seen." The man smiled and then turned up the volume on the radio. A single clean wave of a popular song, cleaner than any I'd ever heard before, flowed out from the radio and the man began to sing along, spattering saliva all over as he sang. The stars were sparkled dimly and persistently in the sky."— Google Books