I said goodbye to the varmints, hugged the folks and tried not to think about all the crap I’d probably forgotten to pack.
Bob Johnson followed me down to the end of the driveway. I rolled down the window of the truck.
“You be good, Bob,” I said. “I’m gone to Texas.”
I didn’t bother trying to explain to Bob Johnson I’d be back in a week or so. How Bob Johnson apprehends time, no one knows. But surely Texas was a concept he could grasp.
Luckily for me, Texas is a large state and hard to miss. I knew if I pointed the truck west and pressed the accelerator, I shouldn’t have too many problems.