They loomed far above the street, blocking out what little night light there was. Even the streetlamps were spaced farther apart out here. We crossed over Blackberry Creek and I realized we were headed way out of Alvin. “Where are we going?” “A few miles outside of town. It’s exactly how I guessed it. They’re parked at the side of some back-ass dirt road running along one of the ranches. It just better not be exactly like I guessed it.” “What do you mean?” “Nothing.” Main Street split off into Old Highway Seventeen and New Highway Seventeen, which folks just called Highway Seventeen. That’s the way we went. The only things out here were ranch houses, farms, old barns, and lots and lots of crops and cattle. On either side of us, a mist blanketed the fields. Out my window, I saw the tall barn of the old Hunter place barely rising above it. Old Man Hunter no longer owned the ranch; he had sold it years ago. Back when he did have it, he grew soy and corn. Now it was just cattle.
