  He drove first. I had my bare feet on the dashboard and the radio was loud. We hadn’t talked for an hour or so, just listened to music and smoked and shared a warm Dr. Pepper. I was used to every thing about him. I was used to being with him all the time. (Incredibly used to the heat from his hand-hot on my thigh, his breath on my face, his worn-in sneakers and old Levi’s and how his kisses tasted in my mouth.
) I looked out the window at the flatness of Missouri whirring by, the brown green of its grass and the brighter green of the highway signs. We stopped at the Tulsa Holiday Inn for the night. The next morning we got sausage biscuits and coffee before getting back on the road, heading for his ungodly huge house hanging on the desert cliffs of Santa Fe. 
