Authors: Ania Ahlborn
By then, Charlie would be out of Louisiana. Less than half a mile from home, a rusty red pickup would pull up along the side of the road, and a bearded man would push the passenger door open for the scrawny barefoot girl.
“You need a lift?” he’d ask her, and rather than replying, she’d crawl up onto that bench seat and stare forward through a dirty windshield.
“What’s your name, kid?” he’d ask, and when he didn’t get a reply, he’d exhale a gruff laugh and nod. “That’s okay,” he’d say. “How about I just call ya chief?”