When I was 18 I worked at ChiChis. I bussed tables and prepped the fried ice cream and rolled silverware and other random things. I worked evenings. My car broke down after my shift one night and I didn't have a cell phone and I was by myself on the highway. I sat in the drivers seat thinking for a minute and then went in the trunk and grabbed a wrench. I was walking home. I was just past the State St exit on 94, toward Ypsi. I lived off Textile. Long stroll. It was chilly out but not cold, moisture in the air, crisp on the skin. I walked in the grass to be as off the road as I could. I'd only been going for about ten minutes when a car slowed down and pulled over. I gripped the wrench in my hand immediately. It was a 40, maybe 50, something couple. A man was driving, his wife (?) in the passenger seat. Everything in the universe told me not to get in that car, but I did. I climbed in the back seat with the wrench pressed flush up my arm under my sleeve, I don't know why I hid it. I lied about where I lived and was silent otherwise. She was smoking. My heart was beating fast and hard. The seats were old cracky leather and the floor had bare metal parts and there were a couple newspapers next to me. I rolled my window down and stared out. They got off the highway at Huron and I said I'd be fine at the gas station. And, I was.