For some reason, when he was in town, my one (white) colleague from Mississippi's texts wouldn't always go through to my phone, or vice-versa, so I had to call him up when I got out of work, for example, since he had never responded to my texts about getting together for dinner afterwards like we had texted about earlier that day.
And, at that point he was already setting up for the night in his SUV, out in the Cracker Barrel parking lot by the highway.
"They have a little section where people can pull over and sleep," he was like, beginning to tell me about the system they have and how he was going to use it.
"This sounds like some shit like you're living out of your truck like a trucker and abducting women," I was like.
And, he chuckled and was like, "Oh no, you should see it, I took out the back seats, and put in a place where I can sleep..."
"And I soddered in these little metal U-bars for the zipties," I was like, interrupting him and imitating him like I was him finishing his thought.
"Oh no," he was like, "But there's really not enough room for a woman in there."
"That's why you chop off their legs," I was like.
And, we continued our conversation for a bit, and I said other things to that effect.
He also said that we should get together for coffee at my place the next day, and he'd be rested and we'd have a lot of time to chat then, since he only had like a three hour drive afterwards to a Cracker Barrel in the southern part of the state.
"But don't forget you need to budget in forty-five minutes for backroads so you can go dump the body in the reservoir," I was like.
"Thanks, I"ll keep that in mind," he was like, chuckling.
"You know," I was like, "Plastic tarp and whatnot, real Laura Palmer shit."
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