Work Text:
The Flat Tire
by Chante
I patrol I-65 in Kentucky from Louisville to Elizabethtown. A few days ago, I spotted a car limping along on a flat, so I asked the driver to pull over. He was young, Caucasion. Loud country music came from the radio, a wad of chewing tobacco filled his cheek. He gave me a brown-toothed grin as I approached the car. "Hidy." he said.
"Driving on a flat tire will ruin your rim." I said. "You don't have a spare?"
"Well, yeah, I got one, but my dog's tied to it at home." he said.
"Is anyone at home who could bring it to you?" I asked, presenting my cell phone to him.
"My wife is there. Maybe she could bring the pickup out. I could use the spare in the back of it."
"I doubt a truck tire would fit your car, sir. Maybe she could bring the tire your dog is tied to." I offered.
He scratched his head doubtfully for a minute and spit tobacco juice at my feet. "Well," he said, "I don't have nowhere else to tie my dog!"
I kept smiling and handed him the phone. Some days, my job is too much fun.
END