I drove back to Bakersfield tonight. And every time I get on a highway and see a semi-truck I think of Dan. My mind imagines him in the cab with his foot on the dash, making a sandwich from his cooler while rolling down the road at 65 miles an hour!
I can see him even though I never rode in the cab with him.
He wanted me to do just that. He wanted me to take a trip with him to Los Angeles. A day trip is what he called it. God, that would have been fun.
Then I unpacked tonight and in the side pocket I found a postcard from Missoula, Montana. It was just a picture of the ice cream store. He hadn't written on it. But I don't think I will ever get rid of it.
Dan just keeps hanging around.