Jack Harden had a long drive ahead of him; the unending procession of sentinel pines and transplanted date palms that lined Interstate Ten on its long straight course through the Florida panhandle blurred by in his periphery. He had been doing long hauls for nearly twenty years, but this was the last stretch of highway on a nearly eighteen hour drive; what truckers call a turn and burn. On the long and dust free dashboard, the GPS streamed a miniature 3D version of the actual view through the windscreen. Nice device, but, in his humble opinion, overkill, a big waste of money. Jack had driven well beyond the legal limit of hours, but that was really the least of his concerns at present. He was breaking the law in the process, something he was normally loathe to do; but he justified this lapse in character as merely a miniscule filament in the otherwise enormous web he had spun tonight. The sound of the highway rolling under the seventy seven inch wheels of the cherry red tractor was soothing - almost too soothing.
