I had to learn what the word
contiguous meant when I was 26.
We hit all 48 states in nine months,
driving the Ford Ranger in a figure-eight
from East Coast to West and across the Plains.
We stopped midway to work in Salt Lake City.
She bused tables at Little America. I did landscaping.
At night, bodies squeezed together in the bed of the pickup,
America expanded around us, a sweet smell of syrup and gasoline.