Dead coyotes and skunks litter the edge of East bound Interstate 20.
Lucinda's 351 Cleveland, howls as she blows around like a set sail
she holds tight rubber on asphalt.
The winds blowing frigid
have plowed semi tractor-trailers into the soggy snow wet ditches,
where sheriffs and their deputies dodge oncoming traffic
like cockroaches running from a collapsing mine shaft.
Hooked up with my nephew and his family for dinner at a Tex-Mex diner.
We all pile into his Texas sized Ford as we laugh through the night.
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