Men wearing neon colored vests sat on the side of the highway. Fresh patches of tar covered holes.  Orange cones lead drivers to the left lane. Slow down signs and dump trucks. They traveled north. 

What are you gonna do when we get to Chicago? she asked between sips of a 32 oz soda. I know where I’m going.

Yeah? Where?

Rock and Roll McDonald’s downtown.

Oh yeah? He kept driving. Smiled at her, this girl he picked up in Terre Haute. 

My daddy used to take me there when I was a little kid. He bought me chocolate shakes, and we listened to cool music from the 50’s.

Sounds like fun, the gray-haired man said. I like Buddy Holly. 

Who?

Buddy Holly. Singer from back then. You know. Peggy Sue…Peggy Sue…pretty pretty pretty Peggy Sue, he sang, struggled to hit notes. He stretched his arm out on the seat. Pulled in the seventeen year-old real tight. You’re going to be alright, he told her. You’ll be fine.

She continued slurping on her drink and looked out the window of the truck. She saw leaves dying, turned brown. She counted license plates from different states. Other diesels passed them by.

You never answered my question, said the blonde. What are you going to do in Chicago? she tucked her face into his ribs.

Just park the beast at a truck stop outside of town and get some sleep. I gotta be in Minneapolis by tomorrow.

I’ve never been there. I heard it’s nice though, she said. But I think I’ll hang out in Chicago.

How are you going to survive?

I’ll find a way. I’m smart. I’ll go to beauty school and learn how to style hair, she told him, placed her hand on his thigh, which he removed. You think I’m pretty? he nodded. You want me? he shook his head. I won’t tell anybody. A hundred bucks, and I’ll take care of you, the driver grabbed the steering wheel with both hands.

Don’t say that. You remind me of my daughter back in St. Louis. She’s really pretty like you. But, no. I don’t want you like that. Just want to get you to Chicago. 

The Rock and Roll McDonald’s.

Sure.