Driving a truck cross-country gives a man a lot of time to think. . . . . Especially when traveling through what seems like an endless desert. That alone can stir up any long-lost memories as quick as a dust storm can kick up clouds of blinding sand. I was on my way back home to Okeechobee on a trip that started off in hell. Well, hot as hell. Sin City! Smack-dab in the middle of summer. Here I was surrounded by nothing but vast desert, where every inch of land is withered from the scorching sun, so hot that even the tumbleweeds scurry to avoid the blazing heat.

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A whole new page needs to be written prior to the rabbit suddenly appearing from out of nowhere so that when the reader flips this page the rabbit video will play behind that scene coming up next on page 3 and 4.

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As I kept trucking down the desolate highway, a rabbit suddenly appeared from out of nowhere and ran directly in front of my path. And just when I thought it would make it safely across the road it stopped dead-in-its-tracks. As I continued barreling straight at the little critter, it remained perfectly still. . . Frozen in Fear. I instinctively knew I could not swerve an eighteen-wheeler to avoid hitting a little rabbit, so the closer I got to the inevitable roadkill the more I blessed the vultures soon-to-be next meal. I cried out, "Don't move little' guy!" I did not want to look back, but I did. Not at the rabbit, but at myself. I looked all the way back, to the very beginning.

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