97 T-bird

He springs to his feet and hefts his pack to his shoulder, grabs what looks like a banjo and gives a loose tug on the chain leashed to the dog that’s already trotting ahead. It all happens in a blur in the side view mirror before I even come to a stop on the on-ramp shoulder.

I feel a sense of atonement watching his long strides to the car, a weary smile on his face. I roll the window down, and the snout of some sort of beagle-labramutt mix pokes through. The hitcher leans down hopefully.